H.  F.  BROWNSON. 


FROM   THE   LIBRARY   OF 
REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.   D.  D 

BEQUEATHED    BY    HIM    TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


- 


i  z : 


V 


JAN  18  1935 
HYMNS  OF  THE  Clf-URCII; 


THE  NATIVITY, 


AND  OTHER 


POEMS, 


BY     // 

THE   REV.  M.   A.   WALLACE 


And  for  these  words,  thus  woven  into  song, 

It  may  be  that  they  are  a  harmless  wile, 
The  colouring  of  the  scenes  which  fleet  along, 

Which  I  would  seize,  in  passing,  to  beguile 
My  breast,  or  that  of  others,  for  a  while. 

Childe  Harold. 


PORTLAND: 
PUBLISHED    BY    SANBORN   &    CARTER. 
1853. 


HIS    GRACE, 
THE  MOST  REV.  WILLIAM  WALSH,  D.  D. 

ARCHBISHOP    OF    HALIFAX: 

THE    FOLLOWING 

POEMS 

ABE    MOST    RESPECTFULLY 

DEDICATED 

by  his  Grace's  humble  and  obedient  servant, 

THE  AUTHOR  AND   TRANSLATOR. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S53,  by 

M.    A.    WALLACE, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Maine. 


pom-last. 
PRINTED    BY    HARMON    i    WILLIAMS 


CONTENTS 


PAGE. 

The  Nativity, 13 

WILD  SCENES  OF  THE  WEST. 

Introduction , 25 

Hobsin  Island, 26 

The  Roar  on  the  Shore, 23 

St.  Margaret's  Bay, 30 

Gathering  the  May  Flowers, 32 

Norton  River, .  . . ". S3 

Shetland  Island, 35 

The  Forests, 37 

The  Sage  and  the  Stream, 41 

The  World  of  May, 42 

The  World  of  November, 44 

MEN  AND  THINGS. 

ST.  JOHN.  A  SACKED  DRAMA. 

OCCASIONAL  PIECES. 

The  Yonng  Acolvthe's  Death, 92 

The  Charitv  Fair, 93 

The  Church, 98 

Elegy, 102 

Easter, 10-4 

O  S;:lutaris  Hostia, 105 

The  Ordination, 105 

InditTerentism, 108 

The  Priest's  Choice, Ill 

The  Glory  of  Paradise, 113 

They  are  Gone — They  are   Gone, 116 

The  Arab  to  his  Horse, IIS 

Chatham, 119 

Health, 121 

The  Withered  Tree, 123 

The  Battle  of  the  Horatii  and  Curiatii, 124 

The  Last  Night  of  December, 127 

HYMNS   OF  THE   CHURCH. 

At  Midnight, 129 

Morning, '^99 


VI  CONTEXTS. 

The  Third  Hour, 130 

The  Sixth  Hour, 131 

The  Ninth  Hour, 131 

Common  of  Apostles, 132 

A  Martyr, 1 33 

Martyrs 134 

A  Confessor, 135 

Virgins, 136 

ODES   OF  HORACE. 

To  Maecenas, 137 

To  Sextus,   139 

To  his  Slave, 140 

To    Leuconie, 141 

The  Muse, 141 

To  Thaliarchus, 142 

Ode, 143 

PASTORALS   OF  VIRGIL. 

1.  Melihaeus  and  Tityrus, 145 

2.  Alexis, 149 

3.  Maenalcas,  Damaetus,  Palaemon 153 

4.  Pollio, 161 

5.  Daphnis, 164 

6.  Silenus, 169 

7.  Melibaeus,  Corydon,  Thyrsis, « 173 

8.  Damon,  Alphesibeus, 177 

9.  Lvcidas, 1 S2 

10.  Callus, 1S6 

THE    CATILMERINON. 

Chanticleer, 197 

Morning, 200 

Before  Meat, 203 

After  Meat, 210 

Lighting  the  Paschal  Candle, 214 

Evening 220 

Fasting 222 

After  Fasting, 230 

'Hie   Miracles  of  Christ, 282 

Burial  of  the  Dead, 240 

Christmas  Day, 217 

The  Epiphany 251 

THE   VIRGIN  BORN. 

Book  First, 269 

Bon';  Second, 2*7 

Book  Third, 305 


PREFACE 


Kind  Reader, 

This  work,  as  you  will  observe,  is  for  the  most  part, 
composed  of  religious  pieces.  The  subjects  are  of  such  a 
nature  as  will.  I  fear,  make  it  somewhat  unpalatable  to 
the  general  taste.  The  measure  of  praise  or  of  blame 
which  you  will  be  likely  to  accord  to  it,  will  depend  more 
perhaps  upon  your  own  peculiar  manner  of  thinking,  than 
upon  the  merit  or  demerit  of  the  pieces  themselves.  If 
you  be  in  the  habit  of  walking  that  ground  upon  which  I 
delight  to  tread,  you  will  be  apt  to  receive  it  favourably ; 
if,  on  the  contrary,  you  happen  to  be  of  those  whom  I 
shall,  for  want  of  a  better  term,  call  my  antipodes,  you 
will,  I  have  no  doubt,  rank  the  author  or  translator  as  he 
may  be,  with  the  famous  worthies  of  the  Dunciad. 

To  be  in  our  times  ' ;  the  poet  of  all  circles  and  the  idol 
of  one's  own,"  the  hopeful  aspirant  to  enduring  fame  must 
adopt  for  his  poetical  policy  something  similar  to  that  upon 
which  is  founded  our  system  of  state  education ;  that  is  to 
say — he  must  at  the  outset  either  renounce  Christianity  in 


VIII  PREFACE. 

toto,  or  what  is  much  the  same,  he  must  be  a  professor  of  ail 
creeds  in  general,  but  of  none  in  particular — he  must  be 
a  Ilomer  of  many  sectarian  dialects,  and  at  any  given 
time  furnish  forth  a  God  and  a  Goddess  suited  to  the 
motley  multitudinous  array  whose  favour  he  would  hope 
to  win.  In  bringing  this  volume  before  the  public.  I 
have  not  adopted  the  policy  of  which  I  have  spoken.  My 
success,  I  may  therefore  prognosticate,  will  be  rather 
circumscribed. 

Steam,  rail  roads,  electricity,  liberty,  gold  dust,  spirit- 
ual rappings,  spinning  jennies,  and  the  like — these  are 
the  things  which  a  cunning  bard  would  now  delight  to 
eulogize  and  blazon.  There  is  in  our  days  more  melody 
in  the  whistle  of  a  car,  or  it  may  be,  some  one  whispers, 
in  the  explosion  of  an  engine,  than  in  all  the  solemn  old 
chaunts  of  Cathedral  choirs,  or  the  merry  roundelays  of 
the  more  musical  Past.  The  sign  of  the  cross,  holy 
water,  fasting,  paschal  candles,  sacraments,  prayers  for 
the  dead,  &c,  things  coming,  one  would  fancy,  under  that 
honourable  head,  Old  Age.  arc  not  only  studiously  ex- 
cluded from  every  modern  poet's  page — "  unhonoured 
and  unsung," — but  they  arc  invariably  scouted  and 
scorned  by  every  walking  exquisite  \\ho  plumes  himself 
upon  that  wonderful  enlightenment  of  which  the  present 
so  gratuitously  boasts.     Yet  let  us  not  be  surprized.   The 


PREFACE.  IX 

men,  who  loved  the  things  just  alluded  to,  were  not  so 
near  the  Apostles  as  the  lights  of  our  generation ! 

Some  very  industrious,  and  at  the  same  time  no  less 
fastidious  gentleman  may  on  seeing  this  work,  display  a 
bit  of  his  charitable  disposition  by  saying  that  one  in  a 
calling  like  mine  might,  instead  of  picking  up  around  the 
foot  of  Parnassus  such  withered  flowers  as  these,  devote 
his  time  to  a  better  labour.  Well,  to  this  I  would  say  in 
reply,  as  a  very  unimportant  young  man  once  replied  to 
a  celebrated  orator,  that  upon  this  particular  point  "  I 
entirely  agree  with  Grattan."  Yet  "  Xemo  mortalium 
omnibus  horis  sapit."  Since  then  Ci  to  err  is  human,  to 
forgive  divine,"  I  hope  that  this  very  industrious  christian 
will  give  me  a  proof  of  his  singular  perfection  by  extend- 
ing to  my  passing  folly  a  little  of  his  large  indulgent 
consideration.  In  the  meantime,  the  individual  in  question 
will  not,  I  trust,  fail  to  remember  that  St.  Ambrose,  St. 
Augustine,  St.  Paulimi3,  St.  Bernard,  St.  Peter  Damian, 
and  many  others  in  every  rank  of  the  church,  considered 
it  no  folly  to  indulge  at  times  in  the  pleasures,  not  the 
sins  of  poesy. 

A  word  now  about  the  contents.  The  Oratorio  entitled 
the  Nativity  is  not,  for  the  reasons  already  assigned,  a 
production  of  which  a  time  like  the  present  will  be  very 
much  enamoured.      The  'Wild  Scenes, '  written  several 


X  PREFACE. 

years  ago,  are  not  given  here  as  specimens  deserving  the 
name  of  poetry,  but  merely  as  a  small  tribute  of  affection 
to  a  land*  in  which  I  spent  the  happiest  and  the  most  of 
my  years.  The  Sacred  Drama,  St.  John,  must  stand  or 
fall  according  to  the  fiat  of  the  critics.  The  Pastorals  of 
Virgil,  in  as  much  as  they  are  common  property,  can  and 
Trill  be  judged  impartially  and  according  to  their  deserts. 
"Men  and  Things,"  a  satire — is  a  light  shot  against 
existing  evils,  and  must  go  for  what  it  is  worth.  Eman- 
uel, the  Virgin-Born,  hss  already  been  published,  and 
was  as  well  received  as  I  could  desire.  The  "  Introduc- 
tion" prefixed  to  this  edition  is  taken  from  Sannazar  s 
works,  published  some  years  ago  in  Dublin  by  a  Catholic 
Priest. 

Of  the  Cathemerinon,  I  think  I  will  not  be  mistaken  in 
saying  that  it  will  be  judged  according  to  the  religious 
bias  of  those  who  may  have  the  patience  to  give  it  a 
perusal.  In  publishing  this  work  of  Prudentius,  I  have, 
it  nothing  else,  the  honour  of  being  the  first  to  introduce 
to  the  English  reader  tho  venerable  poet  of  Calahorra. 
To  a  certain  clas3  of  critics  I  am,  I  know,  submitting  in 
this  translation,  as  dull  and  uninteresting  a  book  as  I 
could  possibly  bring  forth.  To  those  for  whom  the  work 
has  been  particularly  prepared,  I  am  submitting  some- 

*Nova  Scotia. 


PREFACE.  XI 

thing  very  different.  On  perusing  the  -writings  of  one 
who,  like  Prudentius,  lived  no  less  than  fifteen  hundred 
years  ago,  when  we  find  repeated  allusions  to  the  doctrines 
and  practices  of  Catholicity,  we  cannot  but  exult  in  the 
antiquity  of  our  creed.  Those  very  rites  and  ceremonies, 
which  above  all  others  are  now  disputed  and  decried  by 
those  who  differ  from  us  in  religion,  are  the  identical  things 
upon  which  the  genius  of  this  ancient  poet  has  been  here 
particularly  displayed.  With  that  laudable  pride,  then, 
which  one  naturally  feels  in  being  allied  to  the  glorious 
past,  it  can  truthfully  be  said  by  every  Catholic  who  may 
read  this  little  work,  that  he  was  in  this  far  down  century 
baptized  and  confirmed  in  the  very  same  way  as  was  Pru- 
dentius  in  the  third — that,  when  he  lies  down  to  rest,  or 
when  danger  threatens  him,  he  signs  himself  in  the  same 
way  with  the  semblance  of  the  cross — that  he  beholds 
lighted  for  his  consolation  the  same  sacred  light  of  the 
altar — that  he  too  fasts  for  his  sins — that  he  too  prays 
for  his  departed  brethren — that  he  too  sprinkles  himself 
with  the  purifying  water — and  that  he  entertains  the  like 
fears  of  eternal  punishment,  the  like  hopes  of  eternal 
reward.  The  translation  now  presented  will,  for  tins 
reason,  be  more  than  acceptable  to  my  brethren  in  the 
faith. 

The  difficulty  of  translating,  particularly  of  translating 
into  rhymed  feet,  requires  no  demonstration.     Every  one 


XII  PREFACE. 

acquainted  with  the  process  has  fully  felt  the  burden.  It 
has  been  said  by  a  shrewd  one  that — 

"  Sometimes, 
Kings  are  not  more  imperative  than  rhymes." 

I  mention  this  truth  not  exactly  by  way  of  excusing  my- 
self, but  rather  with  a  view  of  defending  the  man  whose 
bones  were,  more  than  a  thousand  years  ago,  mingled 
with  the  dust.  Had  I  no  inducement  to  publish  this  ver- 
sion of  mine  but  the  mere  poetry  itself,  I  would  scarcely 
have  allowed  it  to  pass  beyond  the  precincts  of  my  study. 
The  matter,  not  the  verse,  is  my  apology.  The  subjects 
treated  in  the  Cathemerinon  are  valuable  testimonies, 
showing  as  powerfully  as  the  most  ancient  monuments 
themselves,  how  true  are  the  claims  of  the  Catholic  Church, 
and  how  shallow  are  the  novelties  of  the  reformation. 

If  then,  I  can,  by  calling  this  Spanish  bard  from  his 
sleep  of  ages,  and  making  him  speak  in  plain  old  English 
phraze,  succeed  in  adding  to  the  defenders  of  the  Faith 
one  more  time-honoured  witness  of  truth,  I  will  accom- 
plish a  work  from  which  I  shall  derive  a  pleasure,  com- 
pared to  which  a  poet's  name  would  be  only  "  sound  and 
fury,  signifying  nothing." 

11  Go,  then,  my  Book  !  from  this  my  solitude, 
I  cast  thee  on  the  waters,  go  thy  ways." 

RflLTOWN,  St.  Stephen,  ) 
January  7th,  1853.       ) 


THE   NATIVITY. 


PART    FIRST 


Scene The  plains  outside  Bethlehem Time,  Midnight. 

CHORUS.— (0/  Spirits  floating  over  the  plains.) 

When  thro'  fair  Eden's  fragrant  shade 
Thy  feet  in  bliss  and  beauty  strayed, 
We  viewed  thee  from  our  home  on  high, 
And  marked  thy  joys  with  gladsome  eye  : 
But  when  we  saw  the  demon's  power 
With  shame  and  sorrow  blight  thy  bower, 
And  mar  our  Maker's  plan, 

We  wept  the  ruin  thou  wert  left, 

The  bliss  of  which  thou  wert  bereft, 

The  crown  of  glory  shorn  and  cleft, 
0  faded,  fallen  man  ! 

But  now  again 
We  joy  and  we  raise  a  joyous  strain 
Where  sorrow,  long, 
Hath  poured  her  song, 
2 


14  THE     NATIVITY. 

Filling  with  loneliness  and  fear. 
Thy  mortal  ear, 

And  we  joy  still  more 

Than  we  joyed  before. 
For  the  triumph  of  satan  forever  is  o'er. 

Joy  !     Joy  !     Joy  ! 
Albeit  among  thy  thankless  kind 
A  softer  couch  He  will  not  find, 
Than  what  a  stable  may  bestow 
Where  the  rains  may  beat  and  the  winds  may  blow 
Still,  0  still, 
It  is  his  will 
That  thy  toils  shall  have  rest, 
And  thyself  shall  be  blest, 
And  there  must  be 
Such  peace  for  thee, 
As  nothing  may  henceforth  destroy. 

He  comes — the  conqueror  comes  to  night, 
Not  with  the  gleam  of  shield  and  spear, 
As  victors  of  the  world  appear 
Midst  the  hurrying  feet 
Of  war  steeds  fleet 
And  the  flashing  of  falcions,  the  floating  of  plumes- 
Yet  he  comes 
The  king  of  majesty  and  might, 
'Gainst  whom  in  vain  all  powers  unite, 
And  hell  shall  tremble  and  be  put  to  flight. 


IIIE     NATIVITY.  15 

Xow. 
Thou  of  the  fierv  eve.  and  hauditv  brow ! 
In  whose  fell  triumph  came 
Wo.  darkness,  sin  and  shame. 
Down 
With  thy  conquered  crest,  and  thy  crumbled  crown 
To  the  deeps 
Where  hell's  black  torrent  boils  and  sweeps. 
And  torture's  viper  gnawing  creeps. 
And  burning  anguish  never  sleeps. 
And  everlasting  sorrow  weeps  : 
Down.  down.  down. 
With  thy  lightning- wrath,  and  thy  thunder-frown. 
To  the  gloom 
Of  deadliest  doom  : 
To  the  damned  abyss 
Where  fiends  and  furies  howl  and  hiss  : 
From  pomp  and  sway. 
Foul  foe  of  clay  ! 
Away — away — away — 
0  blasted  one  ! 
Begone : 
For  evermore  thy  reign  is  o'er. 
And  earth  is  joy  from  shore  to  shore. 


16  TIIE     NATIVITY. 

PART     SECOND. 


Scene. ...The  plains Shepherds  watching  their  flocks.. ..Time,  after 

midnight. 

SHEPHERD. 

"Tis  a  wild  night — wild  blasts  around  us  sweep, 
And  starless  skies  o'erlook  the  land  and  deep, 
In  stillest  rest  the  distant  city  lies, 
And  not  a  gleam  attracts  the  straining  eyes  ; 
All  nature  sleepeth,  but  we  slumber  not, 
As  if  the  shepherd's  were  not  mortal  lot : 
The  day  was  made  for  toil,  the  night  for  rest : 
Why  was  I  born,  or  born,  alas  !   unblessed  ? 

SECOND    SHEPHERD— (Singing.) 

Away  with  sorrow  and  with  care, 

"Why  would'st  thou  sigh  in  vain? 
Is  there  not  sweetness  in  the  air, 

And  freshness  on  the  plain  ? 
Are  these  not  blessings  few  partake  1 

And  see — the  darkness  flies, 
The  clouds  that  loomed  begin  to  break 

And  stars  illume  the  skies  ! 

THIRD    SHEPHERD. 

Heaven  !  what  is  this  ?  What  change  do  we  survey  / 
The  howling  storm  has  wholly  died  away, 
The  gloom  is  scattered,  all  around  grows  bright. 
And  what  is  this  that  robes  the  world  in  light? 
God  of  the  waters  !  Ruler  of  the  sky  ! 


THE     NATIVITY.  IT 

(An  Angel  appears,  at  sight  of  whom  the  Shepherds  fall  to  the  ground.) 

ANGEL. 

Rise,  gentle  Shepherds  !  and  dismiss  your  fear. 

I  bring  you  tidings  of  immortal  cheer  ! 

Wake  from  your  terror,  and  believe  the  voice 

That  bids  all  nations  of  the  world  rejoice : 

To  you  in  David's  capitol  this  morn 

A  Saviour  who  is  Christ  the  Lord  is  born ; 

Haste  to  the  manger  where  his  glory  glows, 

There  will  ye  find  him  wrapped  in  swaddling  clothes. 

CHORUS.—  Of  Spirits  in  the  air.) 

Oh  sons  of  earth  !  high  sons  of  earth  ! 

Rejoice,  rejoice,  rejoice  ! 
Go,  welcome  the  dawn  of  immortal  mirth, 

And  raise  your  warbling  voice  : 
Let  the  tear  of  sorrow  no  longer  stream, 
But  bid  the  smile  of  happiness  beam  ! 
Let  grief  for  lost  Paradise  be  o'er, 
For  its  scenes  shall  smile, 
And  its  hours  beguile, 
And  the  world  be  blest  once  more. 

0  sons  of  earth  !  high  sons  of  earth  ! 

Rejoice,  rejoice,  rejoice  ! 
Go  hail  ye  the  morn  of  the  Saviour's  birth, 

And  raise  your  warbling  voice  ; 
The  time  of  your  exile  is  gone, 
The  reign  of  freedom  hath  come  on, 
The  flowers  will  bloom 

With  a  sweeter  perfume, 

*2 


18  THE     NATIVITY. 

The  world  will  all  be  fair, 
And  there  was  never  a  region  of  bliss 
So  full  of  beauty  and  joy  as  this, 

For  heaven  itself  is  there. 

0  ye  sons  and  daughters  of  earth  ! 

Rejoice,  rejoice,  rejoice, 
To  meet  the  promised  of  ages  go  forth, 

And  raise  your  warbling  voice  ; 

Sent  down  from  the  skies 

In  a  manger  he  lies, 

All  loveliness  and  love. 

And  there's  nought  so  bright 

As  his  eyes  of  light, 

Below,  around,  above ; 
Before  his  smile  all  troubles  fly 

And  all  dissensions  cease, — 
Glory  and  honour  to  God  on  high, 

And  to  men  of  good  will,  peace  ! 

FIRST  SHEPHERD. 

Heard  ye  that  thrilling  song?  methinks  I  hear 

Its  dulcet  chimes  still  sounding  sweet  and  clear  ! 

And  did  I  sorrow  at  my  humble  lot, 

That  all  were  slumbering  while  I  slumbered  not  ? 

O  have  I  liv'd  to  see  this  heavenly  Bight, 

Have  we  for  this  been  shepherds  thro'  the  night  ? 

( )  rapture  of  all  raptures  !  come  away 

And  taste  the  sweets  of  that  celestial  lay  : 

Haste  to  the  city  to  complete  our  joy. 

And  gaze  enamoured  on  the  new-born  boy. 


THE     NATIVITY.  19 


CHORUS.— (0/  Shepherds.) 

Away,  away — our  flocks  may  stray, 
"Where'er  their  footsteps  will, 

To  a  better  care  we  now  repair. 
Rejoice,  rejoice  we  still. 


PART   THIRD. 


Scene The  Stable The  Child,  Mary  and  Joseph Time,  before 

daybreak. 

MARY. 

On  no  embroidered  couch  reclines  my  head, 
No  brilliant  lamps  their  lustre  round  me  shed. 
No  joyous  music  charms  my  list'ning  ear, 
Nought  but  the  night- wind  coldly  warbles  here  : 
Yet  more  than  all.  within  my  cottage  low, 
There  shines  a  bliss  heav'n  only  could  bestow  ; 
The  glorious  hope  of  David's  royal  race, 
Is  sweetly  smiling  in  my  fond  embrace, 
The  Christ  —the  Saviour — rapture  unexpressed  ! 
And  do  I  clasp  him  to  my  beating  breast  I 
0  let  the  wine-cup  sparkle  bright 

In  regal  hall  and  bower. 
The  season  of  its  best  delight 
Will  vanish  like  the  flower. 
Far  sweeter  is  my  humble  shed, 
Tho'  wild  and  bleak  and  bare ; 
0  there  the  Saviour's  couch  is  spread. 
And  all  is  Eden  there. 


20  THE   NATIVITY. 

JOSEPH.— (Gazing on  the  infant.) 

^  j°y  •'  0  rapture  !  0  delight  supreme  ! 
Do  these  bright  eyes  before  me  surely  beam  I 
Do  I  behold  him  whom  the  seers  of  old 
In  vain,  in  vain  were  longing  to  behold  ? 
On  the  long  wished-for,  the  Desired  of  all. 
Him  who  shall  right  unhappy  mortals'  fall, 
0  is  it  mine  to  feed  my  ravished  eyes, 
And  feel  my  soul  exulting  in  me  rise  ! 

Auspicious,  blest,  triumphant  hour. 

How  beautiful  art  thou  ! 
Ev*n  smiling  nature  owns  thy  power 

And  seems  transported  now. 

The  night-breeze  hath  a  sweeter  sigh, 
The  streams  more  softly  flow, 

And  brighter  tints  are  in  the  sky. 
All  lovelier  looks  below. 

And  hark  !  the  warblers  of  the  wild 
Forget  that  midnight  reigns, 

They  come  to  hail  the  heav'nly  child 
And  sing  their  sweetest  strains  ! 

MARY. 

Exult,  0  Bethlehem  !  for  blest  art  thou  ! 
Earth's  noblest  city  hails  thee  highest  now  ; 
O  cheer  with  revelry  thy  gay  green  bowers 
And  o'er  thy  pathways  scatter  fairest  flowers. 
Let  voice  and  harp  in  mingled  song  combine, 
And  chaunt  that  glory  which  is  ever  thine. 


THE    NATIVITY.  '21 

Rejoice,  0  Bethlehem  !  rejoice  and  sing. 
Thou  art  the  birth-place  of  the  Nation's  King  ! 

JOSEPH. 

What  whispers  1  Hush — hearest  thou  that  sound  I  Again. 

It  is  the  breathing  of  some  heavenly  strain  : 

List — clear  yet  soft,  it  spreads  along  the  skies. 

And  now  it  swells,  and  now  it  sinks  and  dies  : 

Once  more  it  bursts — hark  !  what  a  thrilling  sound — 

The  songs  of  Seraphim  are  floating  round. 

CHORUS.— (0/  Spirits  from  without.) 

Hail,  hail,  hail  ! 
Flower  of  the  field  !  Lamb  !  Lily  of  the  vale  ! 

Life  !     Light !  the  Lawgiver  !  Eternal  word  ! 
Truth  !  King  of  glory  !    Right  arm  of  the  Lord  ! 

King  of  kings  !     Brightness  of  Eternal  light ! 
Lord  of  Hosts  !  Prince  of  Peace  !  Lord  God  of  miatfit ! 


-.-• 


Arise,  now  arise, 
Thou  that  wert  born  to  dwell  in  the  skies  ! 

Wake,  mortal !  wake, 
The  dawn  of  bliss  begins  to  break ; 

The  royal  hour 
Of  gladness,  glory,  pomp  and  power 

Sent  forth  to  shine 

With  light  divine, 
O'er  earth,  and  air,  o'er  thee  and  thine, 

Flings  now  its  beam 

O'er  sea,  o'er  stream, 
O'er  hill,  o'er  vale,  o'er  hall,  o'er  bower. 


22  THE  NATIVITY. 

The  long  expected  One  has  come; 
Come  to  avert  man's  dreadful  doom. 
And  bid  the  sad 
Be  glad, 
The  desert-rock,  the  desert-gloom, 
Light,  life,  bloom, 

And  all 
On  earth's  illumined  ball, 
Excess,  0  sweet  excess 
Of  love  and  joy  and  happiness, 
Then  sing 
To  the  King, 
And  o'er  his  path  thy  roses  fling. 

JOSEPH. 

My  soul !  They  fly — the  spirits  fly — and  lo  ! 

Around  us  now  ambrozial  breezes  blow  ; 
0  God  of  glory  !  praise  be  unto  thee, 

Who  wert;  and  art,  and  shalt  forever  be. 

(Noise  without.) 

Ha  !  Listen— wherefore  1  flying  feet  are  near — 

SHEPHERDS.— (Rejoicing  in  the  sight  of  the  Child. ) 

The  Saviour  !  heaven  and  hope — behold  him  here ! 

(Song  of  Angels.) 

0  sweetness  of  the  evening  breeze  ! 
0  radiance  of  the  morning  ray  ! 
0  beauty  of  the  sparkling  seas  ! 


THE   NATIVITY.  23 

0  glory  of  the  summer  day  ! 
0  fragrance  of  the  fragrant  flowers  ! 
0  bloom  and  beauty  of  the  vale  ! 
0  softness  of  the  vernal  showers  ! 
AU  hail— all  hail— all  hail ! 

Thou  that  hast  been  expected  long  ! 
Thou  after  whom  the  nations  sighed  ! 
Thou  the  high  theme  of  Prophets'  song! 
Thou  the  world's  joy,  peace  and  pride  ! 
Thou  who  wilt  cheer  the  heart  that  faints  ! 
And  bid  the  mourner  cease  to  wail ! 
Thou  the  Redeemer  !  saint  of  Saints  ! 
All  hail— all  hail— aU  hail ! 

FIRST  SHEPHERD. 

And  thou,  blest  Mother — 0  what  bliss  is  thine  ! 

Throughout  all  days  thy  spotless  name  shall  shine : 

Maid  of  the  innocent  and  virtuous  mind  ! 

The  pride,  the  glory,  queen  of  womankind  ! 

Until  the'  point  when  time  shall  cease  to  be. 

The  old  and  young  shall  ever  honour  thee  i 

To  thee  shall  come  the  virgin  in  delight. 

And  strew  thy  path  with  fragrant  flowers  and  bright. 

While  all.  to  thee  melodious  songs  shall  pour. 

And  hail  thee  virgin  blest  for  evermore  ! 

SECOND  SHEPHERD. 

Come,  brother  Shepherds  !  haste  we  now  away. 
The  night  departs,  and  dawns  a  lovely  day  : 


24  THE   NATIVITY. 

Wake  to  high  wonderment  the  slumbering  earth7 
With  the  blest  tidings  of  the  Saviour's  birth, 
'Till  the  proud  peal  make  every  bosom  bound. 
And  gladness  warble  far  and  wide  around. 

SHEPHERDS  ALL. 

To  the  field,  the  vale,  the  plain, 

Away,  away,  away  ; 
A  King  has  come  from  the  skies  to  reign. 

Lift  high  the  joyous  lay. 


WILD  SCENES  OF  THE  WEST. 


INTRODUCTION 

The  hills  arise  between  my  friends  and  me, 
And  leave  me  now  near  many  a  rocky  isle. 

Washed  by  the  waters  of  a  wide,  wide  sea 
That  dashes  onward  many  a  stormy  mile. 

Far.  far  beyond  the  wave  where  Indian  summers  smile. 

And  on  a  mountain  that,  like  anger,  frowns, 
I  now  recline,  and  mark  the  waves  below 

Gilding  with  sunshine  their  majestic  crowns. 

And  decked,  like  brides,  with  wreaths  of  ocean's  snow. 

And  dancing  to  the  winds  that  warble  as  they  blow. 

And  I  will  rest  upon  this  craggy  steep, 
And  drink  the  air  till  day  has  gone  to  rest. 

And,  thus  far  off  from  where  all  troubles  sweep 
Across  the  soul,  like  storms  o'er  ocean's  breast. 

I'll  view  the  opening  scene — the  wildest  in  the  west ! 

Farewell,  awhile,  ye  distant  ones  so  dear  ! 

Tho?  lone  the  prospect  when  ye  are  not  nigh. 
Still  feels  my  soul  a  thrilling  transport  here 

By  these  white  rocks,  broad  sea,  and  fair  fresh  sky. 

Where  life  is  close  allied  to  immortality. 
3 


26  WILD   SCENES  OF   THE   WEST. 

0  gentle  breeze  !  that  swept  the  southern  pole, 

What  treasures  bear'st  thou  on  thy  wave-bom  wing  .' 

Here  will  I  wed  thee  to  my  longing  soul 

Thou  child  of  air  !  thou  fair  unfettered  thing  I 

And  tune  my  lively  harp,  and  by  the  waters  sing. 


HOBSON   ISLAND. 

I  stand  upon  as  wild  a  spot 

As  ever  warmed  beneath  the  sun, 

Where  summer's  glory  dazzles  not, 
Nor  blossoms  blow,  nor  rivers  run ; 

The  rays  of  June  flash  brightly  round, 
The  storms  are  slumb'ring  in  their  caves, 

And,  save  yon  sea's  eternal  sound, 
Tis  calm  as  ev'ning  over  graves. 

Yet  vain  the  scene  so  still  and  warm, 

And  joyless  too,  creation's  smile  ; 
With  all  of  these  there  is  no  charm, 

Amid  this  lonely  ocean  isle. 
The  wand'rer's  eye  must  turn  away, 

And  envy  Hobson  such  an  hour, 
And  look  for  charms  where  summer's  ray 

With  beauty  clothes  some  far-off  bower. 

The  wild  winds  soon  shall  wake  again, 
And  sweep  in  wrath  around  the  shore ; 

0  we  shall  see  a  prospect  then, 
As  only  we  have  seen  before. 


WILD   SCENES   OF  THE   WEST.  -7 

The  waves  come  rushing  here  from  sea 

In  such  magnificent  array, 
That — royal  sight ! — 'twould  seem  to  thee. 

As  if  they'd  sweep  the  isle  away. 

And  as  they  charge  with  dreadful  cry. 

And  back  recoil  with  wilder  roar. 
The  spray  makes  rockets  in  the  sky. 

As  cheering  them  to  charge  once  more  ; 
And  then  they  foam  again  and  flash. 

And  send  their  thunders  to  the  stars, 
"Till  caves  and  dells,  and  wild  woods  crash 

With  shouts  and  sounds  as  loud  as  war's. 

And  sweeping,  frothing,  boiling,  back 

Again  they  hurry  to  their  caves, 
To  scour  anew  their  wonted  track, 

"With  thrice  the  crushing  weight  of  waves. 
Fly — fly — the  sea  has  left  its  bed  ! 

Again  the  deluge  drowns  the  world ! 
Howling  they  come  with  with' ring  dread, 

And  rocks  are  from  their  restings  hurled. 

Joys  !  What  high  raptures  such  can  give 

To  eye.  to  ear,  to  heart,  to  soul ! 
'Twould  make  the  very  dying  live, 

And  keep  the  living  ever  whole  : 
Then  hither  come,  thou  faded  cheek  ! 

Thou  art  too  youthful  yet  to  die  : 
Here  shalt  thou  find  that  health  you  seek. 

Which  balmier  clirnes  might  long  deny. 


-8  WILD   SCENES   OF   THE    WEST. 

Hut  see.  the  sun  goes  down,  the  while, 

And  evening's  breezes  swell  my  sail. 
I  must  away  from  thee,  dark  isle. 

Obedient  to  the  fav'ring  gale ; 
Then,  farewell  Hobson  !  I  shall  tell 

Thy  name  to  others  far  away. 
"Till  they,  too,  come,  and  bid  farewell. 

Pleased  with  thy  cliffs  like  me  to-day. 


THE   HOAR   ON    THE   SHORE. 

The  roar,  the  thundering  roar  that  never  ceases, 
As  swells  the  gale,  how  wildly  it  increases  ! 
From  this  high  peak  I  hear  it  in  the  rocks 
Heaving  and  howling  like  an  earthquake's  shocks 
The  stunning  yell — the  everlasting  sound. 
At  which  the  very  granite  groans  around. 
How  long  since  first  it  struck  on  mortal  ear  ! 
How  many  ages  till  men  cease  to  hear  ' 

This  smiling  generation  shall  go  by. 
Another  rise  and  fill — another  live  and  die. 
And  others  after,  and  a  thousand  more. 
While  those  rough  rocks  must  echo  to  that  roar ; 
'Tho  wild  thro'  day,  'tis  wilder  still  thro'  night. 
The  darkness  seems  to  fill  it  with  affright. 
Till  howls  it,  mad,  with  more  than  usual  pain, 
To  see  the  golden  day-beams  break  again. 


WILD    .SCENES    OF   THE   WEST.  29 

It  seeins.  in  truth,  like  some  huge  animal. 
That  by  the  grasping  waves  is  kept  in  thrall ; 
More  like  the  •'•'ancient  dragon"  it  appears. 
Bound  by  the  angel  for  a  thousand  years. 
Writhing  and  striving  to  be  free  in  vain. 
Then  falling  back  in  phrenzy  on  his  chain. 
And  sending  forth  this  hurricane  of  thunder 
That  often  rends  the  very  rocks  asunder. 

And  now  it  rises — rages — rushes  on — 
Full  to  the  clouds  that  loud  alarm  is  gone  : 
With  such  a  blast  how  sleep  the  buried  longer  1 
Can  Gabriel's  trumpet  blow  a  warning  stronger? 
A  million  shells  are  scattered  to  the  sky  ! 
0  for  the  eagle  that  would  soar  so  high  ! 
A  field  of  foam  now  flashes  on  the  tide 
And  showery  rainbows  glitter  far  and  wide. 

Niagara  !  thou  glory  of  our  land  ! 

Thou  mighty  fall,  so  fairly,  wildly  grand  ! 

With  all  your  voices  silent  wert  thou  here. 

A  jackall  to  the  lion  roaring  near. 

It  is  an  echo  of  Jehovah's  power 

Loud  sounding  since  Creation's  primal  hour. 

The  stormy  spirit  of  sublimity. 

The  never  dving  moaning  of  the  sea. 


*3 


30  WILD   SCENES   OF   THE   WBST. 


ST.    MARGERETS    BAY. 

From  thy  soft  skyey  bower,  come  awake,  gentle  breeze  ! 
And  waft  me  away  from  those  deep  dashing  seas. 
To  where  verdure  and  blossom  enliven  the  day. 
And  the  winds  bear  sweet  scents  to  the  wild  woods  away. 
To  the  shore  and  the  shallow 

I  now  bid  adieu. 
And  welcome  the  scene 

That  is  opening  to  view  ; 
A  bright  sheet  of  waters 
As  dazzling  and  fair. 
As  ever  was  fanned 
By  the  sweet  summer  air. 

Away  thro'  the  forests  it  winds  in  its  pride, 
With  inlets  so  pleasing,  and  basins  so  wide. 
Where  swift  glancing  fishes  leap  out  to  the  sun. 
Brightning  all  the  blue  wave  r  till  the  daylight  is  done. 
And  many  an  Isle 

Is  asleep  on  its  breast. 
O'ershadowed  with  pines, 

And  in  loveliness  dressed, 
^C4iiestered  retreats. 

Where  the  linnet's  light  lay 
Makes  a  lieav'n  all  day  long 
Of  this  beautiful  bay. 

I  never,  never  would,  while  I  sailed  by  yon  shoals. 
Where  the  sand  ever  surges,  the  wave  ever  rolls, 


WILD   SCENES    <>F    THE    WEST,  ol 

Dream  fur  once,  that  so  lovely  a  haven  was  here. 
Or  a  haven  at  all.  save  a  stormy  and  drear ; 
Yet  the  cloudiest  skies 

That  were  ever  yet  seen 
Displayed  in  their  darkness 

Some  region  serene. 
On  the  morn  of  creation 

Tho*  all  else  was  wild 
In  the  midst  of  the  desert 

A  Paradise  smiled. 

But  these  are  receding — my  boat's  gliding  on — 
This  fairy-like  vision  shall  quickly  be  gone. 
Other  coves  now  expand — other  beauty  is  near — 
I  am  past  them — 0  skies  !  what  a  sweet  place  is  here  ! 
I  gaze  o'er  green  gardens. 
Bright  meadows  I  see. 
With  ten  thousand  feasts 
For  the  whimsical  bee  : 
There  sits  youthful  summer. 

All  radiant  with  smiles. 

Sweet  and  fair  as  she  reigns 

In  her  own  Indian  isles. 

How  placid  and  pure  all  the  bright  water  lies 
With  skies  in  it  shining  more  bright  than  the  skies 
No  wave  did,  methinks.  e'er  so  beauteously  beam. 
Save  the  one  "  clear  as  ckrvstal"  God's  own  glassy  stream. 
0  which  is  the  fairer  now 

Shoreside  or  bay  ? 
They  are  vying  for  beauty 
In  evenings  soft  ray : 


82  WILD    SCENES    OF    THE    WEST. 

One,  as  verdant  and  flow ry 
As  Eden's  young  prime. 

And  the  other  as  calm 
As  the  soul  before  crime. 


GATHERING   THE   MAY-FLOWERS 

Winter,  the  wild,  with  his  storms  and  gloom 

Darkens,  no  longer,  the  day. 
Ours  is  a  world  now  of  beauty  and  bloom. 

Glowing,  and  gladd'ning,  and  gay ; 
Come,  then,  enjoy  we  the  beautiful  spring  ! 

Pleasure  was  sent  but  for  some  ; 
Hear  the  glad  strains  which  the  sweet  birds  sing. 
Come — come — come. 

Leave  we  our  toil,  now,  and  leave  we  our  care, 

Eling  to  the  winter  our  pain, 
There  is  no  shadow  on  earth,  or  in  air, 

Sunshine  is  sovereign  again ; 
Ely,  then,  0  fly  from  the  city's  mad  scene. 

Ye  that  are  sick  of  its  hum. 
Life  lives,  alone,  on  the  fairy  fresh  green. 
Come — come — come. 

On  to  the  spot  where  the  white  blossoms  blow. 

Weave  we  bright  crowns  for  our  hair. 
Soon  shall  the  glories  that  gladden  us  go — 

Who  would  not  gather  his  share  1 


WILD    SCENE*    OF   THE    WK>1. 

Sport  with  the  spring,  then,  and  laugh  with  its  flowers, 

Bring  the  fresh  spoils  to  our  home. 
Joy  calls  aloud  from  the  green  forest  bowers 
Come — come — come. 

We  fly.  then,  we  fly  to  the  wildwoods  away. 

Happy  and  healthful  and  free. 
To  rifle  the  crown  of  that  beautiful  May, 

Queen  now  of  earth  and  of  sea. 
When  our  life's  last  spring  shall  have  fleeted  by 

The  tongues  that  warble  are  dumb. 
May  voices  thus  call  from  the  spring  of  the  sky. 
Come — come — come . 


N  0  R  T  0  N     RIVEK. 

TflOC  stream  that  glid'st  so  softly  by. 

Upon  thy  banks  I  love  to  stray. 
When  summer  laughs  along  the  sky. 

And  gilds  thee  with  her  radiant  ray. 

There's  something  in  thy  tranquil  flow. 

That  more  than  charms  my  eager  eye, 
Fur  thou  art  like  a  stream  I  knoA\ . 

For  which  in  vain  I  now  may  sigh. 

Fair  river  !  lo  !  a  stranger's  tongue 
Would  sing  the  charms  he  sees  in  thee  ! 

Thou  might' st  by  sweeter  bards  be  Bung 
But  none  enrapture!  more  than  he. 


34  WILD    SCENES   OF   THE    WEST. 

He  loves  to  seek  thy  grassy  brink. 

Ev'n  as  he  loved  his  own  sweet  home. 
To  sigh — to  sing — to  walk — to  think — 

The  only  joys  of  those  who  roam. 

The  swarthy  ones  that  wildly  strayed 
Around  thy  banks  in  times  of  old. 

Are  underneath  this  greensward  laid, 

With  names  unknown,  with  deeds  untold. 

Yet  thou  art  free  and  youthful  still. 

And  calm,  and  beautiful,  and  clear. 
As  when  they  ranged  the  woody  hill, 

And  hunted  down  the  mountain-deer. 

0  many  an  Indian's  light  canoe 

Hath  skimmed  along  thy  glassy  tide. 

And  many  a  poisoned  arrow,  too. 
Has  shrilly  whizzed  along  thy  side. 

And  many  a  war-whoop  has  been  yelled, 
And  many  a  noble  heart  laid  low, 

And  dreadful  scenes,  perchance,  beheld 
"Between  the  savage  and  his  foe. 

When  morning  throws  his  rosy  beam. 

Across  thy  waters  calm  and  clear. 
'Tie  sweet  to  view  thee,  placid  stream  ! 

And  hear  thy  birds  that  warble  near. 

And  thou  art  fair  at  even.  too. 

When  stilness  broods  o'er  grove  and  bower 
In  noontide's  glare  thou  glad'st  the  view. 

And  thou  art  beauteous  every  hour. 


WILD   SCENES    OF   THE   WEST. 

Thy  breeze  invigorates  me  now. 

It  quickly  shall  be  felt  again  : 
And  often  shall  it  fan  my  brow, 

And  glad  my  heart,  and  wake  my  strain. 

My  days  are  spent  in  weighty  care. 

And  lonely  life  and  solemn  thought : 
Yet  shall  thy  beauties  make  them  fair 

With  thee  enwreathed,  with  thee  unwrought. 

0  I  could  gaze  on  scenes  like  this. 

And  o'er  their  glories  dream  away. 
"Till  all  absorbed  in  thoughtful  bliss. 

I  would  forget  the  world's  dull  day. 

And  I  would  bless  the  hallowed  spot. 

And  I  would  laud  the  glowing  time. 
That  thus  conspired  to  cheer  my  lot 

With  all  that  lives  of  Eden's  prime. 


SHETLAND    ISLAND. 

(a  legend.) 

The  dream  of  many  a  night  had  told 

That  on  a  far-off  Island  lay 
Fair  treasures  of  forgotten  gold, 

That  there  had  lain  thro'  many  a  day. 

Two  dark-eyed  strangers,  proudly  brave, 
Rejoicing  left  their  homes,  the  while. 


:->-  WILD    SCENES    OF   THE   WEST. 

To  plough  the  deep  cerulean  wave. 
And  seek  the  shores  of  that  rich  isle. 

When  sixteen  suns  had  rolled  away. 

No  more  they  called  the  fav'ring  gale: 
At  length  with  spirits  gladly  gay 

They  furled,  beneath  its  cliff,  their  sail. 

A  spot  it  was  so  lone,  so  wild. 

That  there,  it  seemed,  was  never  heard 
Since  first  the  morn  thro"  ether  smiled, 

The  voice  of  man,  or  lyre,  or  bird. 

And  now,  while  o'er  the  dome  of  night 
The  moon  with  cloudless  lustre  beamed. 

In  haste  they  sought  the  treasures  bright. 
Of  which  their  souls  so  oft  had  dreamed. 

And  soon  they  saw,  with  wond'ring  eyes. 

That  hidden  gold's  refulgent  glare. 
They  seized  upon  the  glitt'ring  prize — 

But  lo  !  a  spirit  watched  it  there. 

And,  louder  than  the  vollied  storm 
A  voice  of  dread  re-echoed  round, 

And  now,  a  dark  unearthly  form, 
Full  in  their  si^ht  terrific  frowned. 


•- 


Alas  !  what  living  eye  could  look 
Upon  a  brow  so  dark,  so  dread  1 

Each  frame  with  palsied  horror  shook, 
And  from  their  cheek  the  life-blood  fled. 


WILD  SCENES  OF  THE  WEST.  m 

The  gold  fell  from  their  grasp — their  heart 
Could  dare  the  venturous  deed  no  more. 

Unblessed  the  wand'rers  should  depart 
From  that  rude  island's  haunted  shore. 

And  now,  in  disappointment  dark. 

Far  o'er  the  wild  waves'  feathery  foam 
Again  they  steered  their  hopeless  bark, 

And  sought  the  haven  of  their  home. 

But  ah  !  upon  the  younger  breast. 

The  horrors  of  that  night  still  hung  ; 
He  died — the  ocean  was  his  rest — 

His  dirge  was  by  the  west  winds  sung. 

Fair  breezes  bbw — the  bark  arrived  : 

The  other  saw  his  native  vale. 
In  pain  he  saw,  and  but  survived 

To  breathe  the  melancholy  tale. 


THE   FORESTS. 

Dread  solitudes  !  how  desolate  ye  seem  ! 

There  is  such  darkness  spread  throughout  your  boughs, 

As  if  had  never  shone  that  dazzling  beam 

Which  gilds  with  lustre  all  the  mountain  brows  : 

Fain  would  the  traveller  tell  you  to  arouse 

From  tins  your  loneliness  so  deep  and  drear. 

In  which  alone  should  hermits  breathe  their  vows. 

When  they  would  fly  from  all  beloved  and  dear. 

And  bless  the  spot  where  life  no  more  should  vex  the  ear 


88  WILD  SCENES  OF  THE  WEST. 

How  deep  !  how  still  !  is  all  the  solemn  wood  ! 

How  free  from  aught  that  bears  a  worldly  stain  ! 

It  seems  almost  a  sacrilege  to  intrude 

Where  such  solemnity  and  silence  reign  : 

How  wildly  Echo  calls  and  shouts  again, 

As  if  she  warned  it  of  each  breath  that  passed  ! 

My  lightest  step  shakes  all  the  green  domain, 

My  softest  voice  rings  thro'  it,  like  a  blast ; 

How  awful  is  the  scene  !  how  wild,  sublime,  and  vast ! 

Would' st  thou  survey  the  habitants  of  old, 
Would' st  thou  contemporize  with  ages  fled  ? 
In  these  the  objects  of  your  wish  behold ; 
They  have  survived  the  long-forgotten  dead. 
Hither,  then,  wand'rer  !  may'st  thou  turn  thy  tread. 
These  proud  old  pillars  lived  within  the  past, 
The  moss  of  myriad  years  is  round  them  spread, 
Yet  are  they  stout  and  likely  still  to  last : 
And  laugh  at  time  itself,  albeit  so  fierce  and  fast. 

The  land  I  tread  on  was  the  Indian's  home, 

The  dark  Atlantic  was  unmeasured  then  : 

My  father's  sires  were  covered  with  the  tomb. 

And  a  sole  hemisphere  was  known  to  men  ; 

And  earlier  still,  and  ere  the  period  when 

The  young  Crusader  sought  the  holy  grave, 

And  fought  and  won,  and  braved  and  bled  again 

With  countless  thousands  of  the  deathless  brave, 

E'en  then  methinks  these  woods  did  to  the  wild  winds  wave. 

Full  many  a  race  hath  doubtless  gamboled  here. 
Where  ^iant  leaves  diffuse  a  midnight  shade. 


WILD  SCENES  OF  THE  WEST.  89 

Whose  names  unknown  shall  never  meet  our  ear. 

So  deep  the  darkness  in  which  they  are  laid  ; 

Here,  oft' times,  might  some  tawny  youth  have  played. 

With  as  fine  mind  and  noble  thoughts  endowed 

As  ever  yet  the  white  man's  lore  arrayed. 

With  all  his  pomp  supreme,  and  spirit  proud, 

And  vein  of  gentle  blood,  and  lofty  boastings  loud. 

The  mother,  too.  might  gaze  with  as  deep  joy 

As  e'er  was  felt  by  European  dame. 

Upon  the  beauty  of  that  swarthy  boy, 

As  he  was  foremost  in  the  savage  game : 

And  here — but  lo  !  'tis  all  at  length  the  same — 

They  only  met  the  measure  of  that  fate 

Which  still  is  found  by  every  living  name, 

The  good,  the  bad,  the  little  and  the  great, 

The  freeman,  and  the  slave,  the  clown,  the  potentate. 

Ye  wild  groves  of  the  west  !  your  branches  sweep 
O'er  graves  perchance,  where  many  a  mighty  heart 
Is  now  reposing  in  that  dreamless  sleep, 
From  which  e'en  thunders  will  not  make  it  start ; 
O'er  men  whose  spirit  played  the  hero's  part, 
And  launched  the  spear,  and  twanged  the  deadly  bow 
With  arm  of  power  that  sought  not  aid  from  art, 
When  vengeance  viewed  the  phalanx  of  the  foe. 
And  yelled  with  maniac-cry  to  lay  his  glory  low. 

Alas  for  man,  and  is  his  life  thus  frail  ? 
And  is  he  weaker  than  the  meanest  thing  ? 
Where  is  his  mightiness  1  What  doth  avail 
The  fair  philosophy  that  calls  him  King 


40  WILD  SCENES  OF  THE  WEST. 

Of  the  Creation  ?     Ev'n  while  forests  spring 

In  beauty  and  in  freshness  thro'  each  dell, 

He — he.  the  Lord,  is  fading,  withering, 

And  hast'ning  to  the  place  where  dead  bones  dwell. 

And  deep  oblivion  shrouds  the  crumbling  ashes  well. 

< )  woods  !  thro'  which  the  winds  of  years  have  sung. 
I  envy  you,  when  these  my  thoughts  arise  ! 
Ye  are  most  aged,  I  am  still  but  young, 
Yet  will  ye  there  stand  proudly  to  the  skies, 
When  changeless  darkness  shall  o'erspread  my  eyes. 
And  clay-cold  heaps  press  heavy  on  my  breast, 
And  all  that's  earthly  in  me  more  than  dies, 
And  rank  wild  weeds  shall  gather  o'er  my  rest, 
And  the  long  eyeless  worm  become  my  only  guest. 

I  feel  a  sadness  when  I  gaze  on  you, 

As  pains  my  heart,  and  wrings  from  me  the  tear. 

Yet  do  I  find  a  thrill  of  transport,  too, 

And  gather  truths  I  may  not  elsewhere  hear  ; 

I  love  to  stray  among  you,  tho'  with  fear. 

Because  I  then  glide  down  reflection's  stream, 

Away — away  from  this  cold  world  so  drear, 

Where  woe  is  frowning  in  our  every  dream, 

And  all  our  highest  joy  is  but  a  fitful  gleam. 

But  now  farewell — the  dewey  eve  descends, 
The  mist  is  rising  o'er  the  solemn  ground. 
And  with  the  deepness  of  your  shadows,  blends, 
Throwing  a  darkness,  like  the  night,  around  ; — 
Farewell — I  leave  you  to  your  peace  profound, 
And  once  more  mingle  where  my  fellows  dwell, 


WILD  SCENES  OF  THE  WEST.  41 

'Midst  many  a  pleasing  sight,  and  happy  sound, 
That  cheer  my  heart,  and  make  new  raptures  swell ; 
Welcome  again,  my  home  !  Ye  gloomy  haunts  !  farewell  ! 


THE    SAGE   AND    THE    STREAM. 

There?s  something  of  pain  in  the  clear  water's  flow. 
Which  all  who  have  looked  thereon  doubtless  must  know. 
Abandoned  to  many  a  fanciful  dream, 
A  sage  gazed  alone  on  a  fast-rolling  stream, 
That,  with  the  last  radiance  of  day  o'er  it  playing, 
Adown  the  deep  valleys  was  joyously  straying, 
And  He  could  not  in  truth  but  exclaim  with  a  sigh — 
'Like  our  youth,  0  glad  stream  !  goestthou  dancingly  by.' 

The  twilight  came  on ;  and  the  dews  of  the  night 

Around  and  upon  him  fell  pearly  and  bright : 

He  heard  but  the  night- warbler's  carol  so  loving. 

And  the  revelling  breeze  thro?  the  green  branches  roving. 

The  moon,  like  a  mother,  her  vigil  was  keeping 

Above  the  sweet  stars  that  around  her  seemed  sleeping. 

The  spirit  of  loveliness  breathed  o'er  the  scene. 

And  even  tranquility  looked  more  serene. 

1  Now,  now,  playful  streamlet !'  He  whispered  once  more, 

'  Thus  lone  is  our  life  when  our  boyhood  is  o'er.' 

The  shadows  of  night  followed  heavy  and  fast, 

And  from  the  fair  water  each  bright  feature  passed : 

No  longer  the  lights  that  illumined  it  shone. 

But  darkly  that  stream  thro'  the  stillness  flowed  on. 

'Tis  thus,  then  he  thought,  with  the  children  of  men, 

First  gladness,  next  loneliness,  dreariness,  then. 
4* 


42  WILD  SCENES  OF  THE  WEST. 


THE    WORLD    OF   MAY. 

Peace,  silence  !      Gentle,  genial  spring 
Demands  a  passing  tribute  now. 

With  all  her  birds  upon  the  wing, 
And  bursting  buds  on  every  bough. 

Hush — listen  to  that  warbler's  strain 
That  sweetly  comes  from  yonder  bush  : 

How  little  does  it  tell  of  pain, 
What  little  care  is  in  it ! — hush  ! 

Can  mortal  sing  a  song  so  glad  ] 
Is  there  such  rapture  in  our  race  ? 

Our  happiest  strain  to  that  is  sad, 
With  us*such  transport  has  no  trace. 

And  0  that  heavenly,  balmy  breeze, 
So  sweet,  so  freshning,  and  so  bland. 

Sweeping  across  the  healthful  seas, 
And  bringing  hope  and  life  to  land  ! 

Can  all  the  arts  of  vain  mankind 
Revive  the  fever  d  brow  so  well ! 

Away — give  me  the  vernal  wind, 
Its  treasures  are  unspeakable. 

It  breathes  from  out  the  golden  west, 
With  odours,  and  with  freshness  laden. 

Cooling  creation's  warm  green  breast, 

And  glad'ning  old  man.  youth  and  maiden. 


WILD  SCENES   OF  THE  WEST.  43 

Blow.  blow,  sweet  breeze  !  I  welcome  thee  : 

I  hail  thee  on  those  hills  of  ours  ; 
Xo  wind,  methinks.  more  sweet  and  free. 

E"er  reveled  over  Eden's  flower- 

The  bright  skies,  too.  the  azure  skies. 

How  holy,  peaceful,  pure  they  seem  ! 
Illuming  with  their  world  of  eyes. 

Hill,  mountain,  valley,  sea  and  stream. 

They  look  as  if  they  did  rejoice 

Above  old  hoary  winter's  flight. 
And  seem  to  bless  glad  nature's  voice. 

Now  warbling,  wide,  of  life  and  light. 

As  if  they  triumphed  over  this. 

As  o'er  a  glorious  battle  won. 
With  young  buds,  emblems  of  their  bliss. 

All  bursting  rneath  their  fostering  sun. 

Then  smile  away,  ye  skies  so  blue  ! 

I  may  not  tell  what  transports  rise. 
When  thoughtful  thus  I  gaze  on  you. 

Place  of  ten  thousand  mysteries  ! 

Yet  why  name  bird,  breeze,  sky — when  all 

Make  nature  now  so  fresh  and  fair  1 
The  wide  world  looks  a  festal  hall. 

With  light  and  beauty  every  where. 

Fair  emblem  of  a  fairer  time  ! 

Brief  is  your  lingering  in  the  vale. 
May  we  yet  meet  in  happier  clime, 

Where  suns  ne'er  set.  nor  roses  fail. 


44  WILD  SCENES  OF  THE  WEST. 


THE    WORLD    OF    NOVEMBER. 

The  year  is  flying  fast,  and  Nature  seems 

A  scene  of  sorrowing  sights  wide  spread  around ; 

There's  sadness  in  the  skies,  the  woods,  the  streams. 

The  dull  blue  ocean,  and  the  gloomy  ground  : 

Deep  stillness  reigns,  and  hushed  is  every  sound 

Of  life  and  mirth  that  gladdened  the  green  bowers : 

The  sun  is  cold,  the  earth  is  all  uncrowned, 

Decay  has  withered  up  the  glorious  flowers. 

And  every  charm  is  gone  from  this  dark  world  of  ours. 

Who  can  behold  the  prospect  I  survey, 

And  feel  not  sorrow  for  the  bright  and  fair  ? 

Who  ever  loved  the  drear  autumnal  day 

With  its  sere  foliage,  and  its  branches  bare, 

Who  hears  its  blasts  sweep  thro'  the  dark'ning  air, 

Nor  sighs  for  winds  soft  breathing  from  the  west. 

Those  wizard  winds  that  all  but  banish  care, 

And  lull  the  tumults  of  the  soul  to  rest, 

And  near  persuade  the  heart  that  man  is  sometimes  blest .? 

The  sweets  of  summer  are  around  us  dying, 

And  hollow  breezes  make  a  mournful  moan  : 

The  leaves  of  autumn  are  around  us  flying, 

And  beauty  falleth  from  her  flowery  throne : 

The  free  fleet  wings  that  swept  the  skies  are  flown, 

Leaving  the  groves  to  silence  strange  and  deep : 

And  all  are  gone,  and  we  are  left  alone, 

Mid  skies  that  darken,  and  mid  blasts  that  sweep. 

To  gaze  on  scenes  o'er  which  all  gentle  eyes  must  weep. 


WILD  SCENES  OF  THE  WEST.  4-3 

Chill  cheerless  hours  !  for  all  ye  take  away. 

Ye  bring  us  nought  to  lighten  up  our  gloom  ! 

Ye  have  no  charm,  ye  have  no  cheering  ray, 

And  where  ye  light  there  is,  alas  !  no  bloom. 

Ye  are.  it  seems,  the  ministers  of  doom. 

That  come  to  scatter  and  to  vanquish  all, 

Then  howl  a  song  above  the  gen'ral  tomb, 

As  if  yc  revelled  through  a  banquet-hall, 

And  not  along  a  waste  where  blight  and  shadows  fall. 

Oh  dull  and  desolate  earth  !  thou  art  bereft 

Of  all  that  did  array  thee,  and  thou  art 

E'en  now  like  to  some  lonely  one  when  left 

To  the  sad  portion  of  a  broken  heart : 

In  looking  on  thee  wTe  grow  lone  and  start 

Fear-stricken  from  thy  wretchedness,  and  cry 

When  summer  dies,  oh  may  we,  too,  depart. 

And  give  earth's  changes  for  a  truer  sky, 

Where  darkness  may  not  fall,  where  beauty  may  not  die. 

Look  out  no  more  upon  the  landscape  wide  ! 
A  blank  is  there — a  melancholy  void — 
The  flowers  and  fruits  are  gone — the  summer's  pride. 
And  ev'n  the  soft  green  grass  is  all  destroyed. 
Like  pleasures,  glories,  honours  once  enjoyed, 
A  joyless  thought  is  all  that's  left  us  now. 
?Till  Hope,  the  spirit,  never  unemployed. 
Leaps  forth  anon  and  cools  the  burning  brow. 
With  flowers  from  many  a  stalk,  and  leaves  from  many  a 
bough. 


40  WILD  SCENES  OF  THE  WEST 

Thus  when  life's  spring  hath  wholly  passed  away. 
When  autumn  comes  with  all  its  dull  decline, 
When  I  shall  gaze  upon  the  sad  decay, 
( Vet  which  no  more  my  summer  suns  shall  shine. 
May  such  sweet  hope  in  that  lone  hour  be  mine 
To  point  to  scenes  where  autumn  is  unknown. 
Where  truth,  and  light,  and  fadeless  bloom  combine 
To  form  the  glories  round  some  blissful  throne. 
Where  I  shall  change  earth's  lyres  for  harps  of  heav'nly 
tone. 


MEN    AND    THINGS 


Earth,  sea,  and  sky  arc  full  of  glorious  themes, 

Regarding  which  I  have  a  thousand  dreams. 

The  earth  this  moment  shows  a  face  as  gay. 

As  it  presented  in  its  palmiest  day : 

The  sea  appears  as  full  of  light  and  mirth. 

As  it  appeared  when  angels  walked  on  earth  ; 

The  sky  is  laughing  in  its  loveliest  hue, 

The  oldest  eye  ne'er  saw  a  brighter  blue. 

And  flow'ry  earth,  fair  sky  and  flashing  sea. 

Form  one  sweet  world  of  glory  and  of  glee. 

Of  themes  like  these  I  would  delight  to  sing. 

But  other  notes  attune  my  vocal  string. 

Prepare,  then.  Muse  !  to  weave  a  few  rough  rhymes. 

( )n  the  corruption  of  these  pagan  times. 

From  man's  bright  world  to  man's  dark  self  I  turn. 
To  tell  of  things  which  make  the  lightest  mourn. 

Look  where  I  may,  I  see  at  home,  abroad. 
Deceit,  pride,  vanity,  oppression,  fraud. 
Few  lights  I  find  to  brighten  up  the  gloom. 
Few  leaves  I  meet  to  cheer  me  with  their  bloom. 

Where  is  that  Eden  which  a  loving  Lord 
Planted  and  nourished  by  his  power  and  word. 


48  MEN   AND   THINGS. 

Which  showed  a  beauty  Adam's  ne'er  possessed. 

And  was  for  ages  man's  delight  and  rest? 

Blasted,  alas  !  by  him  whose  hellish  hate 

Triumphed  of  old  above  our  First  Estate. 

Once  more  is  man,  then,  darkened  and  defiled, 

And  walks,  like  Cain,  the  wanderer  of  a  wild. 

The  i:  pillar  and  the  ground"  of  all  that's  true. 

Whose  holy  way  the  world  should  still  pursue. 

Has  been  so  torn  by  faction  and  by  feud, 

Renewed  full  oft,  and  still  to  be  renewed. 

That  Christ's  own  cause  with  all  its  lofty  claim. 

Is  well-nigh  deemed  a  hissing  and  a  shame. 

Woe,  bitter  woe  betide  that  band  of  Ghoals 

Who  came  like  angels,  yet  destroyed  mens:  souls. 

vSplit  the  Lord's  seamless  garment  thro'  and  thro'. 

Performing  thus  what  murderers  dared  not  do. 

Warred  with  the  Church  for  which  his  blood  was  shed. 

Enthroned  a  beast,  a  hydra  in  her  stead. 

And  made  religion  what  it  is  confessed. 

The  sceptic's  target,  and  the  heathen's  jest. 

••'  Friend  after  friend,"  the  poet  says,  "  departs  :" — 

The  world,  alas  !  has  no  such  gentle  hearts! 

In  days  of  old  such  truths  were  doubtless  known. 

But  now,  'tis  clear,  the  lovely  things  are  flown. 

Those  fiends  the  world  deemed  heralds  from  above, 

Knew  not  the  spirit  which  can  make  men  love. 

That  holy  union  taught  by  God's  sweet  son, 

Which  was  to  have  all  human  hearts  as  one. 

Is,  like  the  dream  of  yesternight,  gone  by. 

Too  early  numbered  with  the  things  that  fly. 

The  kind  of  brotherhood  we  meet  with  now. 


MEN    AND    THINGS.  4^ 

Speaks  kindly  language,  shows  a  smiling  brow. 
Gives  a  warm  pressure  with  its  snow-white  hand. 
And  claims  to  be  a  lover  of  our  land, 
But  mark  the  heart,  and  that  you  will  behold, 
Despite  all  this,  still  clay — cold,  icy-cold  ! 
My  satire-song  is  no  where  overwrought, 
To  each  and  all  hath  thus  experience  taught. 
Amid  the  walks  of  mortal  guilt  and  guile 
We  have  been  met  by  many  a  wreathed  smile. 
Have  been  addressed  in  flatt'ry's  sugared  words 
Sweet  as  the  song  of  summer's  honey  birds. 
But  oh!  Aurora  Borealis'  gleam 
Was  warmer  far  than  such  a  world's  esteem. 
Were  we  not  told  that,  when  distress  would  Grown, 
Friends  would  be  near  to  smooth  our  troubles  down. 
Bring  back  the  sunshine  that  illumed  our  day. 
And  fling  the  flow'rs  of  gladness  'round  our  way  \ 
Love  like  the  serpent's — falsehood  sweetly  told 
Formed  all  the  while  the  friendship  that  consoled. 
Self,  Error's  sire,  has  snapped  that  bond  in  twain. 
Which  once  bound  all  as  with  a  golden  chain : 
In  human  hearts  self  has  upraised  a  throne, 
On  which  it  sits  superior  and  alone, 
It  own3  no  God  ;  it  has  no  love,  no  law, 
Its  callous  soul  is  void  of  dread  or  awe  : 
One  aim  it  has,  an  aim  at  gold  and  power, 
Which  it  pursues  thro'  sunshine  and  thro'  shower  ; 
All  that  obstructs  its  passage  must  give  way, 
E'en  hell's  own  horrors  will  not  make  it  stay ; 
Earth,  sea,  and  sky  for  self  are  quite  too  small 
Pile  worlds  on  worlds  yet  self  seeks  more,  seeks  all. 
5 


50  MEN    AND   THINGS. 

I  know  some  pictures  of  this  demon  grey, 
Some  of  the  harpies  crossed  my  path  to  day, 
Such  fiendish  lustre  reddened  in  their  eye, 
My  blood  grew  chilly  as  I  passed  them  by ; 
They  sport  rich  raiment,  drive  in  chariots  grand. 
And  move  along  like  leaders  in  the  land, 
Yet  what  are  they  ?  Why,  take  away  their  pelf, 
And  they're  as  stinking  as  the  skunk  itself, 
To  aught  like  learning  they  have  little  claim, 
With  a  great  effort  they  may  scrawl  their  name, 
The  sum  and  substance  of  their  lore  is  this,  — 
To  add  up  inter' st,  and  to  never  miss, 
For  ever  stretching  out  a  grasping  hand, 
And  heaping  mortgages  on  house  and  land. 
The  only  feature  which  the  knaves  possess, 
As  a  redemption  from  their  wickedness, 
Is — what  ?  gentility — yes,  that's  the  trait, 
Shown  in  fine  smiles,  gold  watches,  costly  plate, 
And  some  pet  phrazes  which  they  have  by  rote, 
So  pass  they  on  for  gentlemen  of  note  ! 
What  ?  gentlemen  ! — forgive  my  slip  of  pen — 
Coarse  monsters,  rather,  in  the  shape  of  men, 
Big,  bloated  vampires,  rugged,  raw  and  red, 
Full  fatted  calves,  as  stupid  as  well  fed. 
Oh  !  Avarice  !  oh  Selfishness  !  foul  pair, 
Whose  baneful  breaths  pestiferize  the  air, 
A  day  will  come  when  ye;  in  writhing  pain, 
Shall  howl  for  mercy,  but  shall  howl  in  vain, 
When  cv'ry  sin  in  which  you  now  career, 
Shall  rack  you  thro'  with  agonizing  fear, 
When  death  shall  darken  you  with  hideous  gloom. 


MEN    AXD    THINGS.  51 

And  paint  the  picture  of  your  coming  doom, 

And  ye  shall  find,  but  ah  !  too  late,  too  late, 

That  hell,  not  heaven,  shall  be  your  endless  fate. 

On  human  hearts  if  self  takes  such  a  hold, 

How  live  the  needy  in  a  world  so  cold  7 

Ah  !  Poverty  !  ah  !  thou  art  sore  distressed, 

No  peace  is  thine,  no  happiness,  no  rest ; 

Thro'   life  thou  go'st  not  only  never  prized, 

But  doomed,  deserted,  trodden  down,  despised ; 

A  mark  is  on  thee  deep  as  Cain's  of  yore, 

Which  makes  men  harass  and  distress  thee  more : 

With  him,  e'en  him  who  speaks  most  long  and  loud. 

On  all  with  which  man's  spirit  is  endowed, 

With  e'en  the  great  Philanthropist  himself 

(How  ill  such  name  accords  with  such  an  elf!) 

Thou,  squalid  thing  !  hast  nothing  like  a  thought, 

Man.  tho'  thou  be,  thy  notions  are  but  nought, 

Thy  soul,  mind,  rnenrry — all  are  dross  with  hi)?i, 

Thy  reason  weak — thy  fancy  dull  and  dim: 

Why  shoulds't  thou  speak,  why  shoulds't  thou  stand  erect.' 

Know,  thou  must  give,  but  canst  not  gain  respect, 

Thou  art  but  vassal  to  thy  richer  peer, 

Be  flogged,  yet  fawn ;  be  trampled  on,  yet  fear. 

Toil  is  thy  dower,  and  wretchedness  thy  lot, 

Dig,  drudge,  then  die  unfriended  and  forgot. 

Thus  fare  the  poor,  and  thus  go  dogmas  here, 

Yet  ^is  our  country  called  a  christian  sphere. 

Ah  !  *who  spurns,  and  hunts  the  poor  man  down, 

Need  never  hope  to  wear  the  fadeless  crown, 

From  him  the  fire  of  charity  is  fled, 

And  all  his  works  are  worse  than  doubly  dead. 


52  MEN    AND    THINGS. 

No  length  of  face  with  sanctimonious  hue 

Will  profit  aught,  no  length  of  prayer  will  do. 

Half-fledged  philanthrophy,  that  roguish  guize, 

With  "which  foul  heresy  plays  off  its  lies  ; 

A  love  of  temp' ranee  shown  in  noonday  light. 

But  all  forgotten  in  the  hush  of  night, 

All.  all  are  in  vain  to  him  who  spurns  the  poor. 

Doomed  he  shall  die  with  reprobation  sure. 

Boast,  then  no  more  your  christian  name,  ye  knaves  ! 
Who  grind  the  poor  and  make  them  worse  than  slaves, 
Ye  have  no  part,  no  portion  in  the  name, 
Ye  know  not  Him  from  whom  the  title  came. 
'Twas  from  the  poor  whom  ye  so  deeply  scorn. 
That  he  the  Founder  of  that  name  was  born ; 
Among  the  poor  he  preached  his  word  divine, 
Poor  were  the  members  of  his  mortal  line ; 
He  loved  the  poor ;  among  the  poor  he  dwelt, 
The  poor  man's  woes  his  sacred  bosom  felt ; 
It  was  the  poor  who  mourned  his  cruel  doom, 
And  poor  were  they  who  scooped  his  rocky  tomb. 
Under  the  law  which  Moses  gave  mankind, 
The  poorest  mortal  had  the  purest  mind ; 
The  good  Isaiah,  Daniel,  too,  the  good, 
The  saintly  seers,  and  all  their  kindred  blood; 
Were  poor,  the  poorest  of  the  Jewish  name. 
Poor  in  all  things  except  a  virtuous  fame. 
Since  Jesus,  too,  wrought  man's  eternal  cure. 
The  most  renowned  for  virtue  were  the  poor : 
Poor  were  the  saints,  John,  Peter,  Andrew,  Paul. 
And  all  the  Apostles,  and  the  Martyrs  all : 


MEN    AND    THINGS.  53 

Poor  were  the  rest  who  loved  the  crimson  cross. 
And  for  its  sake  bore  every  worldly  loss, 
And  if  at  first  they  were  not  poor,  we  know. 
They  gave  up  all.  and  in  the  end  were  so. 
"With  such  examples  full  before  your  eyes, 
Rise,  0  ye  rich  !  from  worse  than  slumber  rise : 
Behold  the  doom  to  which  your  being  tends, 
While  yet  'tis  daylight  make  your  God  amends; 
Drive  far  this  fiend  that  drags  you  to  the  earth. 
Be  not  unmindful  of  your  heav'nly  birth; 
Regard  the  poor  man  as  your  brother  true. 
In  birth,  in  destiny,  the  same  as  you ; 
If  mighty  treasures  be  indeed  your  joy, 
Hoard  up  that  wealth  which  nothing  can  destroy ; 
In  heap  on  heap  pile  virtue's  virgin  ore, 
Then  will  ye  shine  when  gold  shall  shine  no  more. 

Give  me  thy  hand,  then,  poverty  outworn ! 
Thee  will  I  prize  tho'  thou  art  tost  and  torn : 
While  I  shall  bear  a  christian  name  and  heart. 
The  part  thou  play'st  I'll  deem  the  fairest  part ; 
In  thee  I  see  more  beauty,  solid  worth, 
Than  all  this  germinating  world  puts  forth, 
Thou  art  the  likeness  of  that  well-loved  Son. 
By  whom  the  triumph  of  all  tribes  was  won  ; 
Hope,  then  thou  hast,  the  brightest  and  the  best, 
The  hope  that  lights  to  glory  and  the  blest. 
The  passing  pains  that  thou  art  doomed  to  know. 
Are  not  misfortune,  are  not  real  woe, 
No  woe  there  is,  and  woe  there  cannot  be 
Save  that  which  seperates  thy  God  and  thee  ; 
5* 


54  MEN    AND    THINGS. 

Thou  need'st  not  grieve,  thou  can'st  not  know  annoy, 

The  faith  that  cheers  thee  is  the  highest  joy. 

Without  that  faith  a  world  to  thee  were  vain. 

The  pearls  of  earth — the  treasures  of  the  main. 

One  only  purpose  wert  thou  sent  for  here. 

To  seek  for  heav'n  with  trembling  and  with  fear. 

No  wealth  thou  want'st  to  bear  thee  on  thy  road. 

Thou  can'st,  a  slave,  obtain  the  blest  abode. 

Rejoice,  then,  poverty  !  rejoice  and  sing, 

Thou  art  a  penniless  yet  priceless  thing. 

While  wealth,  proud  wealth  deserves  our  scoff  and  scorn. 

From  morn  till  night,  from  night  again  till  morn. 

A  house  of  prayer  is  here  on  every  hill. 

Yet  sin  abounds  and  we  are  hopeless  still. 

What  is  effected  by  this  host  of  spires? 

Nothing  to  light  up  virtue's  slumb'ring  fires. 

The  world  of  our  day  is  as  void  of  good, 

As  was  the  world  anterior  to  the  flood. 

When  crime  and  wrong  went  forward  hand  in  hand. 

And  steeped  in  guilt  the  reeking,  rotten  land  ; 

As  void,  I  said  ;  I  may  and  must  say  more, 

The  world  is  worse  than  e'er  it  wTas  before. 

Those  high  commands  are  all  forgotten  now, 

Which  Moses  brought  from  Sinai's  thund'ring  brow, 

Sneered  at,  rejected,  and  as  much  despised, 

As  if  in  hell  their  plan  had  been  devised. 

But  wherefore,  then,  do  all  our  steeples  rise  ? 
More  than  a  score  of  them  salutes  these  skies, — 
Is  it  that  man,  ordained  to  preach  and  pray. 


MEN    AND    THINGS.  55 

May  have  a  place  to  point  out  virtue's  way, 

To  check  bold  knaves  as  men  of  God  should  do. 

Expose  them  full  in  open  light  and  view. 

And  make  them  hasten  from  their  deeds  of  shame, 

Or  cut  them  off,  and  stigmatize  their  name  1 

Our  temples  rise  for  no  such  end  at  all, 

Where  such  the  case,  soon  should  the  structures  fall. 

Want  you  a  proof  for  this  assertion  ?     Well, 

Ask  Doctor  Wellknown,  truly  he  may  tell. 

Why,  then,  do  churches  occupy  the  ground  I 

Just  to  adorn  the  rising  cities  'round, 

Such  things  are  ornaments  to  any  place, 

They  are  not  wanting  in  that  kind  of  grace. 

But  there's  another  end  for  which  men  build  them, 

And  cushion  them,  and  carpet  them,  and  gild  them  ; 

They  gave  a  chance  to  Pink,  and  Blue,  and  Green, 

To  fully  see,  and  to  be  fully  seen  ; 

Silks,  satins,  rings,  and  all  such  rich  array, 

Gain  a  new  lustre  from  the  Sabbath-day ; 

So  nutters,  flaunts  this  creed  of  cane  and  comb, 

At  church,  in  sunshine ;  but,  in  rain,  at  home. 

Churches,  again,  are  cozy  coverts,  where 

Fair  fools  meet  fond,  and  fond  in  turn  meet  fair, 

And  then  such  smiling,  ogling,  as  takes  place, 

Caps,  without  doubt,  the  climax  of  the  case. 

Could  I  describe  those  interesting  scenes, 

I'd  crown  my  brow  with  wreaths  of  evergreens, 

For  one,  I  think,  endowed  with  power  like  that, 

Should  not  go  sauntering  in  a  Proser's  hat. 

But,  woe  is  me !   I  don't  possess  such  gift, 


56  MEN    AND    THINGS. 

I'm  not  a  Scott,  a  Shakspeare,  or  a  Swift. 
All  such  pretensions,  therefore,  I  resign, 
And  hang  my  harp  upon  the  neighb'ring  pine. 
Of  what  does  all  this  crime  remind  me,  then  ? 
Of  that  once  uttered  by  the  King  of  men, 
Hear  it,  Impiety  !  and  oh  !  beware — 
;-  My  father's  house  is  called  the  house  of  prayer, 
But  ye  have  made  of  it  a  den  of  thieves" — 
Cut  this,  ye  garblers  !  from  the  sacred  leaves. 

0  Christianity  !  your  race  is  run, 
Darkness  drives  on  in  spite  of  all  you've  done. 
Your  sacred  cause  is  sacred  now  no  more, 
And  blasphemy  sits  grinning  at  your  door. 
Then  hang  your  gowns  upon  the  willows,  ye 
Who  strive  in  vain  to  make  corruption  flee, 
Down  with  your  orders,  heralds  of  the  Lord  ! 
And  close  for  ever  Jesus'  heav'nly  word  ; 

Lo  !  vice,  the  monster,  antichrist,  the  beast 

Comes  thund'ring  on,  and  treads  down  church  and  priest. 

The  world  receives  him,  and  extatic  cries 

"  Long  live  our  King — resound  his  praise,  ye  skies  !" 

When  April  showers  last  laved  this  happy  sod. 
All  here  seemed  glowing  with  the  love  of  God. 

1  saw,  one  morn,  a  most  enchanting  sight, 
A  vast  assemblage  all  arrayed  in  white, 

The  emblem,  thought  I,  of  their  souls'  bright  hue. 
Won  by  repentance,  and  the  saving  dew. 
They  stood,  0  Shoodic!  by  thy  silvery  stream. 
Like  forms  that  flit  thro'  some  delicious  dream, 


MEN    AND    THIXio.  -37 

And  hymns  were  chanted,  and  avowal  made 
Of  all  they  thought,  of  all  they  did  and  said — 
The  world,  they  told  us.  was  a  dangerous  thing. 
And  man's  high  spirit  had  a  soaring  wing. 
That  ought  to  spurn  this  dark  and  stormy  scene. 
And  fly  away  to  regions  more  serene. 
Such  truths  were  things  my  bosom  knew  full  well. 
And  I  was  fastened  by  their  wizard  spell, 
At  thoughts  so  sweet,  at  deeds  so  bright  and  blest 
I  felt  a  rapture  thrilling  all  my  breast. 
Joyed  in  the  virtue  of  that  snow-white  band. 
And  grew  yet  prouder  of  my  own  loved  land. 

Down  to  the  stream  the  forms  now  wound  their  way. 
Led  by  the  man  empowered  to  preach  and  pray. 
Sorrow  for  sins  they  shouted  o'er  the  tide. 
Baptised  they  rose,  and  God  was  all  their  guide. 
Hymns  full  of  gladness  filled  the  pure  air.  now. 
And  new-born  joy  played  beaming  on  each  brow. 
Back  from  the  waters  moved  that  fair  array. 
Wound  up  the  bank,  and  slowly  passed  away. 
The  winds,  that  ev'ning.  breathed  a  milder  balm. 
The  sylvan  songsters  sang  a  sweeter  psalm. 
The  gentle  river  flowed  more  gently  by. 
And  brighter  tints  suffused  and  filled  the  sky. 
All  nature  joyed  in  that  rejoicing  hour. 
And  told  her  joy  in  every  blooming  bower. 

Hush  !  hark!  unwonted,  and  wild  sounds  are  swelling. 
Of  dire  mishap,  and  deep  deception  telling. 
Fire,  fire.  Oh  !  fire ! — fire  in  the  holy  camp. 


MEN    AND    THINGS. 

Where  gospel  truth  shines  like  a  heav'nly  lamp : 

O  save  our  Zion!  hear,  0  hear  our  cry, 

Ring  ye  the  bells,  and  ring  them  far  and  nigh. 

All  hushed,  all  deaf,  all  slumb*ring  low  and  deep — 

Where  are  the  bells  I  Rise,  rouse  them  from  their  sleep ; 

Alas  !  alas  !  are  pity's  gates  all  shut? 

"  The  bells  are  here,  but  every  rope  is  cut; 

:;  The  bells  are  here,"  still  cried  a  Demon,  loud, 

"  But  ropeless  bells  will  not  collect  a  crowd. 

"  The  crowd  would  come,  but  bells  have  lost  their  sound, 

"  Silent  they  hang  in  slumber  most  profound. 

i:  Roll  on,  then,  flame!  rise  high,  thou  scathing  fire  ! 

c:  Securely  feed  upon  yon  stately  spire, 

"  Burn  post,  beam,  rafter,  pulpit,  pews,  bell,  all, 

;:  To-morrow's  sun  shall  gild  their  fun'ral  pall." — 

Thus  cried  the  Demon,  and  the  flames  flashed  high, 

Levelling  in  dust  that  turret  of  the  sky. 

Is  this  the  fruit  of  all  I  saw,  that  time, 

When  bloom  and  virtue  both  were  in  our  clime  \ 

It  is.  alas  !  and  now  I  fully  see 

Such  fruit  belongs  not  to  a  goodly  tree. 

Toll,  then,  the  bell  for  virtue  fled  and  gone, 

And  flow,  0  Viver,  flow  in  sadness  on, 

"Well  may  deep  sorrow  dim  thy  tranquil  flow. 

A  stain  is  on  thee  thou  must  ever  know, 

Not  all  the  waters  that  supply  thy  urn, 

Can  wash  it  out,  and  make  lost  light  return. 

Last  April's  pageant  which  I  deemed  suprenv- 

Is.  now  I  know  it  nothing  but  a  dream. 


loir  and  inix 

Would  that  I  here  could  terminate  my  strain. 
But  more  there  is  of  which  I  must  complain. 
Oh  !  what  a  picture  this  old  world  presents  ! 
It  is  a  volume  of  most  foul  contents  : 
Deep,  deep  obscenity  fills  every  page. 
Worse  than  the  filth  of  any  heathen  age. 
In  crime  on  crime  imbedded  and  imbued 
Man  now  goes  forth  and  joys  in  all  that's  lewd. 
From  stage  to  stage  he  rushes  on  and  on. 
Till  conscience  dies  and  shame  is  wholly  gone. 
A  blindness  comes  then  o'er  his  heart  and  soul. 
And  holds  them  fast  in  limitless  control. 
The  light  of  grace  then  flickers  fast,  then  flies. 
And  vice,  grown  fair,  assumes  familiar  guize. 
In  vain  the  Gospel  hurls  its  thunder  : round. 
To  him,  alas  !  it  is  an  idle  sound, 
That  word  he  mocks,  that  word  he  ev'n  denies. 

Against  its  march  his  prowess  he  applies. 

Fain  would  he  scatter  every  christian  shrine. 

And  laugh  at  all  things  human  and  divine. 

In  gloom  and  riot  flit  his  moments  by, 

A  dull  waste  'round — a  duller  desert  nigh — 

The  lovely  hope  that  cheered  his  boyhood's  day. 

With  all  its  light  has  vanished  quite  away. 

Then  cometh  death,  but  brings  no  cheering  thought. 

"  Heav'n,  hell  are  here,  and  all  beyond  is  nought !  ** 

Doctrine  of  devils  !  villianous  and  vain. 

Faith's  deadly  foe,  the  wide  world's  ban  and  bane  ! 

What  thus  has  founded  this  thy  hellish  sway  1 

Freedom,  the  spirit,  did  I  hear  thee  say  ? 

Celestial  freedon  !  primal  gift  of  heav'n. 


<i:>  BfBH    AND    THINGS: 

To  me,  to  all,  for  high  intentions  giv'n, 

How  oft  abused  has  been  thy  sacred  name  ! 

How  oft  belied  by  every  godless  claim  ! 

Man,  in  thy  name,  has  raised  his  bloody  brand. 

And  ruin  -wrought  in  many  a  favored  land : 

"Twas  in  thy  name  he  dashed  high  altars  down. 

And  in  thy  name  he  crumbled  many  a  crown, 

In  thy  name,  too,  he  poisoned  guileless  youth, 

And  levied  war  against  Eternal  Truth. 

Yet,  'twas  not  thou  that  did'st  espouse  his  cause 

That  fearful  fight  against  all  forms  and  laws. — 

The  rampant  passion  of  his  carnal  soul, 

Unknown  to  good,  impatient  of  control, 

Licentiousness,  foul  thins;  of  hell  and  night. 

He  madly  honored  with  thy  name  of  light, 

Then  called  on  all  to  follow  where  it  led, 

'Midst  cries  and  groans,  o'er  blood  and  heaps  of  dead. 

How  could  it  be  that  Wisdom  was  deceived, 

( )r  were  they  wise  who  blindly  thus  believed  1 

Should  man  not  know  that  Liberty,  the  blessed, 

Had  not  such  doctrines  as  deceit  expressed, 

Should  he  not  know  that  dogmas  such  as  these. 

Cannot  persuade,  tho'  they  must  ever  please  ? 

•  •  Man  has  the  power,  and  let  him  claim  it  still 

{:  To  stand  upright,  and  follow  out  his  will, 

'•  His  fearless  freedom  knows  no  moral  bound. 

"  High  may  it  revel,  or  expatiate  "round." 

Amid  that  life,  which  free  from  every  woe. 
Man  once  enjoyed,  but  never  more  shall  know, 
In  the  full  blaze  of  Eden's  highest  bliss 


MEN  AND  THINGS.  61 

Did  he  enjoy  a  privilege  like  this  ] 

Was  he  not  blasted  in  that  rueful  hour 

Wherein  he  exercised  such  lawless  power ! 

He  was.  we  know,  at  liberty  to  eat 

Of  all  the  trees  that  graced  his  glad  retreat. 

Save  that  alone  which  was  a  tasteless  tree, 

To  show  that  man  was  not  in  all  things  free. 

When,  then,  they  find  that  e'en  in  Pleasure's  seat 

Our  freedom  was  not  liberty  complete, 

Will  creedless  villians  of  this  crimeful  hour 

Look  for  undue,  unprecedented  power, 

Demand  a  license  to  let  passion  rage, 

And  bring  Gomorrah  back  to  grace  the  age  I 

That  liberty  which  modern  rebels  love 

Is  not  enjoyed  by  God  himself  above. 

He  has  not  power  to  do  that  which  is  ill, 

Yet  is  he  free  and  independent  still. 

What,  then,  is  liberty?     "Tis  this,  but  this, 
To  do  all  well,  to  practice  nought  amiss, 
To  hear  the  Gospel,  God's  high  law  obey. 
And  meekly,  humbly  walk  our  heav'nward  way. 

I  know  a  land  where  men  are  free  as  air, 

My  own  sweet  land,  the  rich,  the  young,  the  fair  ; 

Such  boundless  liberty  elates  her  sons, 

The  fiery  thought  to  very  phrenzy  runs  ; 

Yet  deeds  so  godless  spring  from  this  excess. 

That  better  slav'ry  would  degrade  us  less. 

Thou  grey-necked  Eagle  of  my  own  wild  West  ! 
Too  keen  thy  eye,  too  haughty  is  thy  crest ; 
6 


62  MEN  AND  THINGS. 

Columbia's  sons  imbibing  pride  from  thee 
Forget  their  Maker  to  be  falsely  free. 
Aspiring  host,  so  mighty,  yet  so  young  ! 
Whose  ranks  are  formed  from  every  tribe  and  tongue. 
Love  not  too  much  this  idol  of  thy  heart, 
Else,  like  a  morning  dream,  thy  glories  shall  depart. 
Thy  starry  banner  now  in  pomp  unfurled, 
Has  made  thy  bands  the  proudest  of  the  world  ; 
In  sinful  pride  they  tread  each  favored  state, 
And,  independent,  spurn  the  shocks  of  fate. 
Were  they  less  haughty,  proud  they  well  might  be. 
They  are  the  foremost  of  the  brave  and  free ; 
Theirs  is  a  land  of  plenty  and  of  peace, 
Where  wealth  and  splendor  ever  more  increase : 
Theirs  is  a  land  of  intellectual  light 
Becoming  daily,  brighter  and  more  bright ; 
Theirs  is  the  land  of  mountain,  lake  and  stream. 
Where  real  life  transcends  the  lovliest  dream ; 
Theirs  is  a  land  where  matchless  enterprize 
Has  built  up  works  to  charm  all  hearts  and  eyes. 
The  land  of  genius,  glory  and  renown, 
Justice  her  creed,  prosperity  her  crown ; 
Yet,  Greece,  Assyria,  Rome,  and  Persia  fell, 
And  free  America  may  fill  as  well ; 
May  fall?  Alas  !  I  should  have  said,  she  will. 
One  more  result  of  all-destructive  ill ! 
The  deepening  shadow  of  that  demon's  plume 
Which  yet  shall  brush  her,  and  destroy  her  bloom 
Which  shall  lay  all  her  lofty  turrets  low, 
And  fill  her  ways  with  ruin  and  with  woe. 
Already  is  within  her  towns,  her  tow'rs. 


MEN"    AND  THINGS.  63 

Upon  her  lakes,  amid  her  halls  and  bow'rs  : 
Huge  Infidelity  looms  o'er  her  land, 
Proud  of  his  prospects,  proud  of  his  command. 
Proud,  like  herself,  of  all  in  which  he  boasts. 
His  countless  engines,  and  his  countless  hosts. 

Ask  you.  my  country  !  what  it  is  that  brings 
This  dread  destroyer  of  all  men  and  things. 
To  wave  thus  far  his  fearful  battle-sign. 
And  pour  destruction  upon  thee  and  thine  ? 
To  this  has  Wisdom  long  ago  replied. 
"Tis  brought  along  by  passion,  and  by  pride. 
Or  Independence  rather,  fruit  of  both, 
That  selfish  monster  of  gigantic  growth. 
That  independence  which  is  not  the  true, 
Audacity  unparalelled  and  new. 

Such  independence  is  a  damning  thing  : 
From  its  foul  womb  all  sins  and  sorrows  spring  : 
It  breaks  the  bonds  which  tie  the  passions  down. 
Looks  upon  order  with  a  scornful  frown. 
Regards  religion  as  an  idle  dream. 
Tramples  in  mockery  on  the  great  Supreme. 
"With  brow  unblushing  stands  up  foul  and  fell. 
And  owns  no  God  in  heav'n,  or  earth,  or  hell. 

0  ye  that  revel  in  this  Fury's  train ! 
What  fearful  phrenzy  has  possessed  your  brain  I 
Know  ye  not,  Dupes  !  that  while  ye  dwell  below. 
Such  independence  you  can  never  know  ? 
From  him  who  sits  upon  the  proudest  throne. 


64  MEN   AND   THINGS. 

Down  to  the  slave  unhonored  and  unknown, 

All  are  dependent  and  all  shall  be  so, ; 

'Till  Time's  swift  torrent  will  no  longer  flow; 

No  man  indeed  can  lord  it  over  you  ; 

His  will,  as  man's,  you  are  not  bound  to  do ; 

All  men  are  equal  in  th'  Almighty's  sight, 

With  equal  privilege,  with  equal  right ; 

Thus  far  is  man  an  independent  thing, 

A  chief,  a  lord,  a  president,  a  king  : 

But  there's  a  Power  which  is  above  all  clay 

And  o'er  us  rules  with  unrestricted  sway ; 

His  sacred  laws  and  counsels  we  must  take 

And  man  obey  for  God's,  not  mortal's  sake. 

This  one  deduction,  then,  must  wisdom  draw, 

There  must  be  order,  and  if  order,  law; 

Without  such  law  such  order  cannot  be  ; 

None  saw  it  yet,  and  none  shall  ever  see. 

Abolish  law  and  mark,  what  will  succeed  1 

A  world  of  sorrow  shall  be  ours  indeed. 

Honour,  Peace,  Pleasure,  Happiness  and  Love, 

Banished  from  earth  shall  seek  their  homes  above. 

We  shall  be  wand'rers  thro'  a  waste  of  gloom, 

On  all  sides  tost  by  Passion's  red  simoom. 

The  few  fair  flowers  the  serpent  left,  shall  die, 

And  all  be  death  below  to  heart,  soul,  ear  and  eye. 

Be  ours,  then,  still  the  good  effect  and  cause, 
Harmoneous  order,  peace  preserving  laws. 
Pursue  we  thus  the  great  Creator's  plan, 
And,  free  and  independent,  still  be  man. 


MEN   AND   THINGS.  65 

Read,  ultra  Maniacs  !  read  your  limits  here. 
And  be  not  haughty,  but  tho'  free  have  fear  ; 
Renouncing  vice  !  let  virtue  be  your  choice. 
Listen,  obedient,  to  the  gospel's  voice ; 
Follow  his  steps  who  made  you  "  truly  free:'* 
Let  unbelief  be  no  obstructive  plea ; 
In  him  you  have  what  no  one  else  can  show 
Deeds  far  beyond  all  deeds  achieved  below  : 
Thro'  all  the  past  and  to  the  present  time 
The  wisest  and  the  best  of  every  clime 
Arrayed  themselves  beneath  his  banner  bright. 
And  found  his  yoke  and  burden  sweet  and  light : 
Him  henceforth  love,  if  happy  you  would  be. 
Take  on  yourselves  his  sweet  task  ' ;  learn  of  me' " 
Not  because  he  can  call  forth  worlds  at  will, 
Make  demons  fly,  and  bid  wild  waves  be  still. 
Awake  the  dead,  annihilate  the  spheres, 
Direct  the  stars,  the  systems  and  the  years : 
No,  but  because  he  plays  a  gentle  part, 
E'en  that  of  meekness  and  an  humble  heart. 

Humble  and  meek,  walk  ye  his  path  of  light. 
Meek,  in  all  glory  ;   humble,  in  all  might  : 
Then  shall  the  world  be  all  it  was  of  old, 
O'erspread  with  wealth  surpassing  all  your  gold  : 
Licentiousness  and  selfishness  shall  fly, 
Good  take  the  place  which  it  should  occupy. — 
Friendship  and  love  irradiate  the  day, 
Gaunt  poverty  fling  all  its  woes  away — 
Religion  rise  in  all  her  native  grace 
To  preach  her  counsels  to  a  faithful  race — 
C* 


66  MEN    AND    THINGS. 

Empires  be  fixed  on  bases  all  so  firm 

No  chance,  no  change  shall  ever  bound  their  term — 

True  liberty  sublime  each  ardent  soul, 

And  sunshine,  peace  and  joy  reign  out  from  pole  to  pole. 


ST.    JOHN: 

A     SACRED    DRAMA 


CHARACTERS. 


St.  JOHN.  ANGELICA,  the  Damsel. 

HEROD,  the  Kkg.  HERALDS. 

HERODIAS,  the  Queen-.  MINSTRELS,  COURTIERS. 


PART   FIRST. 

Scene An  Apartment  in  Herod's  palace King  and  Queen. 

KING. 

Why  art  thou  sad,  my  own  Herodias  ! 

Dost  thou  bewail  thy  first  betroth  3d  still? 

Or  longs  thy  soul  for  something  here  below 

Which  were  thy  pleasure  ?     Say,  what  inward  grief 

Thus  clouds  the  usual  sunshine  of  thy  brow, 

And  makes  thy  living  lonely  ? 

QUEEN. 

Lov'st  thou  me  1 

KING. 

Love  thee,  my  Life !  Oh !  wherefore  thus  enquire  ? 
Scarce  is  extinguished  yet  the  bridal  torch 


68  ST.    JOHN. 

That  lit  me  to  the  radiance  of  thy  smile. 
The  sounds  of  joy  have  scarcely  died  away 
That  sang  our  happy  union,  and  dost  thou, 
Oh  !  can'st  thou  doubt  my  bosom  all  so  soon  ? 

QUEEN. 

He  cannot  love  who  slights  an  injured  heart : 

Thou  know'st  my  cause  of  grief,  and  yet  thou  ask'st 

In  mock'ry  of  my  pain,  why  am  I  sad  ! 

Hast  thou  not  heard  how,  far  throughout  the  land, 

I  am  reported  thy  unlawful  bride  ? 

Can  he  be  fond  who  sees  his  dearer  self 

Without  a  thought,  thus  treated  by  the  world  I 

KING, 

O  wicked  falsehood  raised  by  envious  tongues 
To  mar  the  pleasures  of  thy  joyous  life  ! 
My  guiding  star  !  My  sweet  Herodias  ! 
0  give  no  credit  to  this  foul  report ; 
Thou  art  my  rightful  queen  by  all  confest, 
And  every  heart  throughout  my  spacious  realm 
Rejoices  in  the  day  that  made  thee  mine. 
Canst  thou  once  think,  did  I  believe  this  true, 
The  vile  offender  with  impunity 
Should  spread  the  poison  of  his  baneful  word 
Amid  my  happy  reign  and  mar  thy  peace  1 
Again  I  say,  loved  heart !  believe  it  not, 
But  chase  the  gloom  that  hides  thy  sunny  smile, 
And  once  again  be  loving. 


I 


{Enter  a  Herald.) 

Hail,  my  Liege ! 
bring  thee  pressing  news — without  the  gates 


ST.    JOHN.  09 


There  stands,  in  rugged  garb,  a  hoary  man 
Demanding  entrance  to  thy  royal  presence. 

KING. 

What  word  is  this  ?  a  wondrous  incident ! 
A  hoary  man.  thou  sayst,  in  russet  garb, 
Boldly  claims  audience  of  the  kingly  ear : 
Bid  him  begone. 

(Exit  Herald.) 

I  should  not  thus  have  done  : 
No  heart  would  show  such  boldness  of  itself ; 
It  must  be  influenced  by  some  higher  power 
Than  this  world  gives.     Perchance  this  rustic  stranger 
Tho"  mean  in  carriage,  holds  some  high  commission. 

(Re-enter  Herald.) 
Hail,  King  !  again ;  he  will  not  be  dismissed, 
But  will,  in  spite  of  all,  admittance  gain. 

KING. 
It  is  as  I  have  said.     Admit  him  now. 

(Enter  a  Stranger.) 

KING. 
What  art  thou  ?  whence  ?     On  what  designs  thus  far. 
Com'st  thou  on  embassy  of  import  high, 
That  thus  with  such  express  thou  seek'st  the  king? 

STRANGER. 

A  man,  from  justice  come,  on  virtue  bound  ! 
Brief  is  my  message,  King  !  and  true  as  brief: 


{Exit.) 


70  ST.    JOHN. 

It  is  not  meet  to  take  thy  brother's  wife ; 
I  told  thee  once  before ;  and  now  again 
That  it  is  done.  I  tell  thee  thou  hast  sinned. 

KING  (agitated.) 

Firm  was  his  speech,  he  is  a  prophet  sure. 

QUEEN. 

It  was  not  false — I  knew  thou  lov'st  me  not. 
Thou  know'st  I  am  not  deemed  thy  proper  queen  ; 
Yea.  the  report  is  blazoned  far  and  wide  ; 
I  am  the  tender  sufferer,  th'  unavenged, 
Alas  !  so  much  so,  that  thou  hear'st  it  cast 
Op  to  thy  brow,  and  still  look"st  idly  on. 

KING,  (after  a  pause.) 
And  wilt  thou  not  believe  I  prize  thee,  then ! 
( )  would' st  thou  have  me  harm  a  man  so  just  I 
Hard  is  thy  heart  that  would  from  me  demand 
A  sign  so  rigorous  to  prove  my  love. 
I  know  the  stranger — "tis  the  Baptist  John. 

QUEEN. 
3 1  e  is  a  slanderer — I  am  thy  consort — 
Thou  pardon' st  him — on  me  thou  heap'st  disgrace. 

(She  tceept.) 

KING. 

Love  of  my  soul !  Oh  !  dry  those  lovely  eyes 
Whose  tearful  influence  persuades  me  more 
Than  all  the  eloquence  of  Solyma  : 
Thou  shalt  not  have  to  say  a  stranger's  cause 


ST.    JOHN.  71 

Moved  thy  own  Herod's  bosom,  more  than  thine. 

A  herald  shall  pursue  him  as  he  flies, 

And  bring  him  hither  for  the  pains  that  wait  him. 

(Exit  Herald.) 

QUEEN. 

Ah  me,  that  I  should  suffer  thus,  alas  ! 
What  now  avails  this  regal  pomp  and  power. 
When  it  is  marked  by  vile  dishonour's  stain  ) 
I  walked  in  lowly  life,  and  joy  I  found, 
Such  joy,  methinks,  as  I  must  know  no  more  : 
Now  am  I  throned  on  royalty's  proud  height 
A  queen  in  semblance,  not  a  queen  in  truth, 
With  mighty  sorrow  rankling  in  my  soul. 
The  lofty  cedars  most  the  tempests  feel, 
While  lowly  shrubs  are  sheltered  from  the  blast. 

{Enter  a  Herald.) 

My  Lord  !  the  prisoner  stands  within  the  hall. 
Not  taken  in  base  flight;  as  one  who  feared, 
But  standing  bold  amid  the  multitude, 
Where  with  resistless  eloquence  he  spake 
Against  thy  union  with  our  sovereign  lady. 

QUEEN. 

Oh  growing  Scandal !  Oh  my  blasted  honour  ! 

KING,  (feigning  displeasure.) 
Lead  the  delinquent  forth  to  prison,  and 
There  let  him  suffer  for  his  blinded  zeal. 
Load  him  in  every  limb  with  heaviest  chains, 
And  in  that  dreary  state  let  him  remain 


72  ST.    JOHN. 

Till  his  proud  spirit  bends,  and  lie  will  think 
That  death's  most  torturing  pangs  were  easier. 

(Exit  Herald.) 
QUEEN. 

Oh! 
"Wily  dissembled  punishment  !  in  sound 
Dreadful  reality  ;  in  sense  a  fiction, 
Effective  on  its  victim  as  the  storm 
Upon  the  stately  willow,  when  it  flings 
Its  broad  boughs  to  the  skies  so  furiously 
That  to  the  eye,  'twould  seem  the  tossing  tree 
Were  soon  to  meet  its  ruin,  yet  the  while 
As  free  from  fall  as  if  the  balmiest  breath 
Of  summer's  day  were  whispering  thro'  its  leaves  ! 

(Exit.) 

KING,  (alone.) 

What  can  be  hid  from  thee,  shrewd  heart  of  woman  ! 
In  thy  own  cause  resistless  as  the  gale  1 
Thou  art  persuasive,  Love  !  art  most  persuasive, 
And  o'er  my  best  resolves  would  still  advance. 
But  wisdom's  voice  soft  whisp'ring  in  my  ear, 
Tho'  not  so  sweet,  is  more  persuasive  still. 
This  heat  of  passion  will  grow  shortly  cool, 
And  all  those  passing  taunts  will  be  forgot  ; 
But  oh  !  the  wrath  that  doubtless  would  arise 
From  perpetration  of  this  good  man's  death 
Would  not  so  transient  be ;  while  heavier  woes 
Would  doubtless  fall  upon  the  inflictor's  head. 
He  is  a  virtuous  man,  and  much  I  fear  him  : 
His  name  is  deep  revered  among  the  people 


sr.  john. 

And  every  tongue  is  busied  in  his  praise. 
Fame  speaks  of  wondrous  things  by  him  performed. 
And  this  heroic  boldness  just  displayed. 
Of  bringing  power  thus  open  to  reproval. 
Confirms  my  mind  and  verifies  report. 
Tis  meet  that  wives  should  share  their  husbands'  love. 
An  earnest  of  my  love,  hath  mine  received  : 
On  her  account  I  have  imprisoned  now 
A  man  of  spotless  soul  and  fair  renown  ; 
"Tis  also  just  to  shield  the  child  of  virtue. — 
From  death's  fell  grasp  I've  spared  the  godlike  John: 
( >f  king  and  husband  I've  observed  the  laws, 
And  now  my  mind  in  peaceful  mood  shall  rest. 

(Exit.) 


PART    SECOND. 

Scene Another  apartment  of  the  Palace. 

QUEEN,  (alone.) 

Now  will  I  have  revenge.     The  happy  scheme 
My  mind  in  last  night's  solitude  conceived 
Will  soon  be  carried  into  execution,  and 
The  hateful  object  whom  it  is  to  punish 
Will  cause  to  woman's  heart  no  farther  pain. 
But  wherefore  stays  the  herald  I  commanded 
To  meet  me  here,  and  execute  this  plan  ! 
It  is  a  work  his  fealty  owes  me  not, 
One  which  authority  may  not  exact. 
But  gold,  all  conquering,  all  persuasive  gold 
7 


74  ST.    JOHN. 

Will  win  its  way  where  all  things  else  would  fail. 
Butcease,  nay  dream  of  hope  !  behold  he  comes  ! 

[Enter  a  Herald."] 

Thy  herald  waits  to  hear  his  queen's  command. 

QUEEN. 

Draw  near  me.  Herald  !  I  have  something  with  thee. 
A  thing  of  secret  which  none  else  must  know. 
Thou  know'st  the  stranger  whom  my  royal  lord 
Did  late  imprison. 

HERALD. 

Yes,  my  Lady  !  Yes. 
And 

QUEEN,  (intemiptively.) 

Know'st  thou  any  further  of  him.  Herald  ! 

HERALD. 
"Tis  said  that  he  is  a  most  holy  man, 
And  that  the  king  whose  will  in  other  things; 
Shows  little  mercy,  has  on  this  account 
Preserved  him  from  a  death  winch  otherwise 
He  surely  would  have  found. 

QUEEN. 

Ah  !  is  it  so  1 
And  dost  thou  think  this,  Herald,  of  him,  too. 

HERALD. 

E'en  so,  my  Lady  ! 


ST.   JOHX.  75 

QUEEN,  {after  a  pause.) 

And  thy  thought  is  right. 
Now  do  I  find  thou  also  art  his  friend, 
And  may  be  trusted  with  a  message  to  him. 
Believe  not  thou  the  king  admires  his  virtue. 
And  now  that  thou  dost  love  him  and  will,  therefore. 
Inform  not  of  thy  queen  who  loves  him,  too, 
(For  were  the  love  I  bear  the  prisoner  known 
The  kingly  wrath  would  fall  upon  my  head.) 
Unknown  to  all,  then,  hasten  to  the  cell, 
And  bear  a  basket  of  my  choicest  sweets 
To  cheer  his  drooping  spirits  and  apprize  him 
That  I  with  pity  view  his  dreary  fate, 
And  ever  will  console  him. 

HERALD. 

Gracious  Lady  ! 
Is  this  the  secret  for  which  I  was  called  ? 
0  blest  am  I  to  bear  so  sweet  a  message, 
And  blest  is  he  for  whom  the  gift  I  bear. 

QUEEN,  {alone.) 

My  hopes  in  him  are  idle.     I  did  think 
By  Ins  assistance  to  accomplish  all. 
First  'twas  my  mind  to  tell  him  openly 
Of  all  my  wishes,  to  consummate  which 
Try  what  effect  a  bribe  of  gold  would  have  ; 
But  lo  !  by  sounding  him,  too  well  I  saw, 
His  love  for  John  exceeded  e'en  the  King's, 
And  such  experiment  would  dangerous  prove, 
Haply,  however.  I  bethought  myself 


»b  3T.    JOHN. 

And  from  him  kept  the  secret  of  mj  soul. 

Twas  well  indeed  to  send  him  to  the  prison. 

For  he  will  thence  conclude  that  such  -was  my 

Original  intent,  nor  more  suspect. 

Tis  well,  and  I  am  glad  and  sad  together  : 

I  am  not  yet  betrayed.     Now  that  'tis  vain 

To  trust  to  others,  and  I"m  still  resolved 

To  follow  up  my  project — in  disguise 

I'll  seek  the  cell  myself,  and  tho'  not  by 

The  forceful  means  which  I  at  first  intended. 

The  destined  deed  I  will  accomplish  still, 

E'er  o'er  yon  olives  shines  the  evening  sun. 

Yet.  wherefore,  did  I  not  secure  a  proof 

That  this  would  be  successful  ?     Why  not  tell 

The  herald,  (since  'tis  rumored  that  this  man 

Indulges  in  no  dainties,  but  chastises 

In  every  way  his  senses.)  why  not  tell 

The  herald  to  remain  by  him,  until 

He  might  assure  me  of  the  truth  of  this  I 

If  true  it  be,  then  fruitless  is  my  scheme. 

ttut  'tis  too  late.     Now  hasten  we  to  put 

The  deed  in  doing — haste  we  to  prepare 

With  our  own  hands,  a  present  of  sweet  cordials 

Mixed  with  some  powerful  potion,  which,  I  ween. 

Will  do  the  part  I  hoped  the  herald  should. 

And  crown  me  with  success.  {Exit.) 

Scf.ni:  2 A  cell  in  the  Prison. 

JOHN,  {Praying.) 

Maker  of  Ileav'n  and  earth  !  from  this  low  cave 
Which,  tho'  it  hide  from  me  thy  sun's  fair  light. 


ST.    JOHN.  .  i 

Can  ne'er  exclude  the  favours  of  thy  spirit. 

While  day  is  at  its  set.  to  Thee  I  breathe 

My  evening  prayer,  accept  it  from  thy  child. 

Lord  !  I  did  love  thee  in  my  boyhood's  day  ; 

The  age  of  man  hath  strengthened  me  therein. 

And  thou  wilt  be  my  only  thought  forever. 

May  thy  blest  name  be  glorified  by  all. 

While  'er  thy  mighty  essence  shall  endure ! 

In  vain  they  toil  who  strive  to  keep  my  voice. 

All  feeble  as  it  is,  from  hymning  Thee 

And  teaching  man  thy  ways.     In  vain  they  place, 

Between  my  love  and  me.  the  prison's  gloom, 

Or  try  with  chains  to  curb  my  soaring  soul 

From  mounting  to  my  God,  my  heav'n.  my  home. 

In  vain  is  every  means  their  malice  frames 

By  threats,  by  taunts,  by  crosses,  and  by  stripes. 

The  fiercest  fonn  which  Death  itself  assumes, 

To  win  my  heart  from  thee,  my  strength  and  hope. 

May  thy  blest  name  be  glorified  by  all 

"While"  er  thy  mighty  essence  shall  endure  ! 

(He  rises  and  gazes  around  him.) 

This  is  the  scene  that's  suited  to  my  mind, 
Who  loved  before  the  desert's  dreary  waste  ; 
This  is  the  throne  of  solitude  and  peace 
More  sweet  than  those  whereon  high  monarchs  sit. 
For  which  the  world's  ambition  ever  sighs. 
Here  are  not  found  the  troubles,  toils  and  tears 
Of  which  the  spirit  of  the  world  is  made, 
Troubling  and  trying  its  distracted  sons. 
Unseemly  ribaldry  and  noisome  revelry, 


78  ST.    JOHN. 

Whose  syren  sounds  but  -wound  the  virtuous  ear, 
Breathe  not  their  pois'nous  breath  in  this  calm  spot. 
All,  all  is  tranquil !    nothing  dwells  here,  save 
The  stilly  calm  of  softest,  holiest  silence. 
Which  fills  the  spirit  -with  a  heav'nly  lesson. 
And  shows  the  emblem  true  of  all  things  vain  ; 
No  pleasure  has  it  but  the  charming  one 
Of  silence,  for  the  heart  to  ruminate. 

0  man  !  thou  shadow-grasper  !  but  for  deep 
Solicitude  for  thine  immortal  part, 

[Never,  niethinks,  "would  I  go  mingle  with  thee. 

1  would  not  seek  for  thy  society 

Were  it  not  that  thy  doings  may  destroy  thee. 
Whom  I  would  counsel  to  a  better  course. 
'Tis  not  for  love  of  thee,  but  for  thy  soul. 
That  I  would  mix  me  with  thy  company  : 
For  I  would  live  alone  in  scenes  like  this, 
And  thus  shut  out  from  all,  would  fain  agree 
To  make  death  my  first  visitor. 

ENTER  THE  QUEEN,  DISGUISED, 

(Bearing   a    mixture    of  poison  in  a   vial.) 

0  John  ! 
Be  of  good  cheer,  and  raise  thy  sorrowing  head  : 
Be  not  thus  saddened  by  thy  bitter  lot : 
The  queen  admires  thee,  and  is  thy  good  friend. 
Be  not  afraid  while  thou  hast  her  assistance. 
Here  is  a  cordial  by  herself  prepared 
Thy  drooping  spirits  to  revive,  awake, 
From  that  despairing  dream,  and  taste  the  sweets 
Which  few  save  kings  have  tasted. 


.    JOIIX. 

JOHN. 

••  Have  good  cheer:"' 
My  soul  is  glad.     ':  And  raise  my  sorrowing  head  :" 
It  is  not  sorrow  that  thus  bows  me  down  ; 
My  rapture)  are  in  thought,  my  thoughts  are  joy. 
''''  The  queen  admires  me.  and  is  my  good  friend :'" 
My  willing  heart  returns  her  all  its  thanks 
For  every  kindness  which  she  shows  to  me ; 
Yet  cheerless  were  my  fate,  if  I  were  left 
To  trust  for  solace  in  an  arm  so  frail. 

0  gentle  maiden  !  know  I  have  a  hand 
In  the  dark  day  of  trial  to  support  me, 
And  ask  no  other  that  might  hold  me  up. 
My  happy  spirit  is  for  ever  cheered. 

And  dreary  dreams  are  things  I  never  know : 
Since  first  the  light  of  heaven  fell  on  those  ey 
The  heart  of  John  was  ne'er  more  truly  glad. 

1  will  not  taste  the  luxuries  of  kings  : 
"Why  should  I  follow  in  the  steps  of  men, 
The  most  of  which  lead  but  to  ruin  1     No  — 
Take  with  thy  viands,  these  bright  liquids,  too. 
And  give  them  unto  those  who  love  them. 

QUEEN,  (aside.) 

(Wretch  ! 
And  must  my  boldest  deed  be  rendered  vain  I ) 
"Well,  farewell,  holy  stranger  !  is  there  aught 
That  thou  would' st  wish  for  which  the  queen  commands  ! 
She  loves  thee  and  will  send  whate'er  thou  asks't. 


80  ST.    JOHN. 

joiin. 

No,  kindly  maiden  !  I  have  all  things  here. 
The  queen  herself  is  not  so  rich  as  he 
To  whom  her  favours  are  so  warmly  given. 
With  her  I  would  not  change  my  peace  of  heart 
For  all  the  guilty  pleasures  of  her  court. 
Or  all  the  glory  which  the  world  bestows. 
Farewell,  then,  maiden  !  bear  thy  gifts  away. 
And  leave  the  prisoner  to  his  sweeter  dreams. 

QUEEN,  (aside.) 
(Thy  stubborn  soul  but  prompts  new  stratagems 

In  my  designing  breast  to  work  thy  ruin.) 

(Exit.) 

Scene  3 A  chamber  in  the  Palace. 

The  Queen  and  a  Herald.     The  Queen  advising  the  murder  of  John. 

QUEEN. 
And  wilt  thou  see  thy  queen  insulted  thus, 
By  one  with  whom  my  love  availeth  nought  7 
I  first  took  pity  on  his  sad  condition 
And,  with  the  impulse  of  a  feeling  heart. 
Essayed  to  smoothen  its  asperities, 
But  in  return  ;tis  slander  I  receive. 

HERALD. 

Thou  know'st,  0  Queen !  that  in  no  way  but  this 
My  heart  would  ever  let  thee  suffer  ought ; 
But  so  well  strengthened  is  this  man  in  virtu* 
That,  if  I  wished  it.  I  could  not  inflict 
Upon  his  head,  one  blow  that  would  avenge  thee. 
The  heaviest  far  that  I  could  bring  were  death. 


ST.    JOHN.  81 

And  this  to  him  would  be  the  sweetest  joy. 

For  he  abhors  the  world  and  all  its  ways. 

And  hopes  to  pass  thro*  death's  dark  gate  to  better. 

Nay — if  indeed  thou  want'st  to  cause  him  pain. 

Give  him  the  best  enjoyment  thou  can'st  find. 

QUEEN. 

Since,  then,  thou  say'st  this  death  were  his  delight, 

Why  dost  thou  hesitate  to  crown  his  wishes  I 

Thou  can'st  by  this  work  him  no  injury. 

And  thou  wilt  cease  the  cravings  of  thy  queen. 

Thy  actions  indicate  thou  art  his  friend  ; 

A  friend  thou  art  not,  if  thou  let  him  live  ; 

True  friendship  grants  whate'er  its  subject  seeks, 

While  thou  giv'st  that  from  which  'twould  seem  to  fly. 

Sum  up  thy  fortitude,  then,  and  if  thou 

Wilt  wreak  my  vengeance  on  this  enemy. 

With  riches  I  will  place  thee  far  above 

The  wealthiest  noble  of  the  Jewish  land. 

HERALD. 

Ah  !  cease,  my  Queen  !  nor  prompt  me  to  a  deed 
At  which  my  fiercest  heart  must  ever  shudder. 

(He  U  going.) 

QUEEN. 

Then,  as  thou  lov'st  me.  swear  thou' It  not  disclose 
The  secret  of  thy  coming  hither,  but  will  keep. 
Till  death  o'ertake  thee,  all  concealed  and  hid. 

HERALD. 
Heav'n  is  my  witness,  I  had  no  such  thought. 
Tho'  thou  had'st  never  told  me,  in  my  soul. 


82  ST.   JOHN. 

And  now  that  thou  hast  charged  me,  will  I  e'er 

While  life  is  in  me,  ought  divulge  of  this. 

(Exit.) 

QUEEN,  (alone.) 
All  now  is  lost.     Farewell,  my  brightest  hopes  ! 
To  move  the  king  by  soft  persuasion,  when 
E'en  with  his  menials  gold  proves  no  avail. 
Am  I  a  queen  1 — Away,  it  cannot  be — 
In  being  such  I  surely  had  some  power, 
But  oh  !  my  influence  has  no  weight  with  any  ; 
Queens  can  attain  their  ends,  without  the  means, 
The  servile  means  which  I  have  lately  taken, 
Of  secretly  endeavoring  to  ensnare 
The  object  of  my  hate.     Oh  !  let  me  weep  ; 
The  king  draws  near  ;  I'll  try  this  last  essay 
To  move  him  to  compliance  in  my  wish, 
The  last  weak  plan  that  I  can  now  devise. 

(Enter)  IIEROD. 

Still  sad,  my  own  Herodias  !  still  sad  ] 
0  shame,  0  shame  on  woman's  tender  heart ! 
If  thou  did'st  weep  to  find  a  husband  false, 
A  parent  murdered,  or  a  son  disgraced — 
If  thou  wert  crossed  in  some  delightful  hope, 
< )r  saw'st  some  sunny  prospect  blasted,  then 
Such  tears  should  win  from  the  most  savage  heart. 
Deep  pitying  sympathy,  but  now,  alas, 
When  they  are  shed  in  such  a  cause  as  thine, 
To  take  the  life  of  one  whom  hcav'n  admires, 
And  fills  with  strength  and  courage  all  its  own, 
Far  will  they  be  from  meeting  for  return 


ST.    JOHN.  83 

Aught,  aught  save  that  of  hatred  and  disgust. 
Shame,  then,  again  on  woman's  gentle  heart 
To  waste  its  sighs  for  such  a  cruel  end  ! 

QUEEN. 
Yes,  pity  those  who  will  not  pity  thee. 
But  who  reviles,  detracts,  and  blasts  thy  name, 
And  makes  thee  odious  in  thy  people's  eyes, 
Nay,  what  is  more,  who  places  thee,  the  king, 
The  vainly  titled  king,  far,  far  below 
Thy  meanest  slave,  thy  very  vilest  minion — 
Pity  the  prophet  who  thus  pities  thee. 

KING. 

Rise,  and  forgive,  then,  if  my  ardent  soul 

Has  prompted  me  to  words  of  angry  tone. 

Come,  clear  the  gloom  that  shades  thy  lovely  brow. 

And  be  my  pleasure,  and  my  pride  again  ! 

To-morrow  know  will  be  my  natal  day, 

And  must  be  spent  in  revelry  and  mirth. 
Whate'er  conspires  to  make  the  spirit  glad, 
And  fill  the  heart  with  overflow  of  joy, 
Shall  on  the  morrow  reign  throughout  my  court. 
Rise,  and  forgive,  then,  and  no  longer  let 
That  cloud  of  grief  that  o'erhangs  thee  now 
Darken  the  sunshine  of  our  gala  hours. 

QUEEN. 

How  can'st  thou  think,  all  cruel  as  thou  art, 
To  win  from  me  what  thou  in  turn  deny'st  1 
Ah !  if  our  feelings  were  reciprocal, 
How  calm  should  be  the  tenor  of  our  days  ! 
Enjoy  the  coming  hour  as  thou  think' st  best, 


84  3T.    JOHN. 

i  will  not  be  the  shade  to  dim  its  sheen. 
But  still  remember,  ne'er  till  thou  redress 
The  wrongs  I  suffer  shall  I  share  thy  cheer. 


( Exeunt.) 


PART    THIRD. 

Scene A  spacious  hull — a  superb  banquet. 

(Courtiers,  Minstrels,  King,  Queen.) 

FIRST  MINSTREL,  (Plays  upon  his  harp  and  sings.) 

The  feast  is  spread,  the  royal  feast. 
And  hearts  of  joy  are  beating  'round ; 
The  harp  is  strung,  the  poet's  harp. 
And  cheers  it  with  a  thrilling  sound. 

SECOND  MINSTREL. 

Awake,  my  slumVring  lyre  !  awake! 
Why  sleep  while  rapture  round  thee  sings  ) 
This  is  a  time  for  mirth,  awake. 
And  give  to  gladness  all  thy  strings. 

THIRD  MINSTREL. 
Away,  all  dreary  thoughts  !  away— 
Here  let  no  shade  of  sorrow  light, 
Disturb  us  in  your  rightful  hour. 
But  leave  us  to  our  joys  to  night. 

CHORUS. 

The  feast  is  spread,  the  monarch's  feast. 
And  hearts  of  glee  arc  beating  round  j 
The  harp^  is  tuned,  the  poet's  harpy, 
And  cheers  it  with  a  dulcet  sound. 


ST.    JOHN.  85 


KING. 


0  pow'r  of  melody  !  what  spells  are  thine  ! 
In  the  fair  hour  of  mirth  thy  voice  is  sweet ; 
In  sorrow  and  in  sickness  thou  can'st  charm. 
Thou  dearest  solace  of  the  human  heart  ! 
That  in  the  thrill  of  bliss  enhanc'st  joy, 
And  males' t  the  spirit  more  and  more  rejoice  : 
That  sympathisest  in  the  hour  of  grief, 
And  lull'st  us  to  oblivion  of  our  pains, 
Thou  art  the  purest,  best  of  pleasures  here. 
That  leav'st  upon  the  soul  no  sting,  nor  stain. 
Sweet  voice  of  song !  without  thee  what  were  life 
But  one  dull  round  of  days  monotonous 
With  not  a  change  of  sorrow  or  of  shade  ? 
Ye,  then,  that  boast  the  skill  in  dulcet  sounds, 
Awake  again  those  strains  that  charm  the  soul. 

CHORUS. 

0  harp  of  heavenly  harmony  ! 
Awake  thy  voice  again  ; 
It  is  the  king  who  calls  on  thee 
To  swell  the  joyous  strain. 
Amid  Ins  gay  and  courtly  throng 
How  happy  is  the  bard, 
That  sings  aloud  the  laureate  song, 
And  wins  his  high  regard  ! 
All  sweet  and  fair  shall  be  the  flow'rs, 
That  in  his  crown  shall  breathe ; 
And  many,  many  be  the  hours 
Thro'  which  shall  bloom  the  wreathe. 
8 


86 


ST.    JOHN. 


QUEEN,  (aside.) 
Why  linger  here  a  simple  looker  on  1 
I  cannot  taste  the  joy  that  reigns  around. 
A  mirthful  scene  suits  not  a  mournful  soul  ; 
My  wretched  spirit  is  oppressed  with  pain, 
And  finds  no  sweetness  in  the  harp's  soft  sound. 

MINSTRELS. 

Long  live  the  king  !  whose  generous  soul 
Makes  e'en  the  glad  more  gay ; 
"Whose  smile  adds  brightness  to  the  bowl, 
And  sweetness  to  the  lay. 

KING,  (rising from  Ms  seat.) 
Come,  sharers  of  the  banquet !  crown  your  cups, 
And  drink  in  honor  of  the  glowing  hour. 
The  soul  was  made  a  partner  for  the  body, 
Which  were  a  lifeless  lump  without  the  soul ; 
So  for  the  sweets  of  song  was  nectar  made, 
Without  whose  glow  song  were  insipid  too. 
Then  rise  and  fill  in  honour  of  the  hour, 
Life  is  a  transient  rose,  enjoy  ere  fades  the  flower. 

(all  rise.) 

FIRST  COURTIER. 

Long  love  our  mighty  king,  who  knows  so  well 
The  glories  of  existence  !  long  may  he 
Reign  o'er  his  people,  and  enjoy  the  bliss 
With  which  such  festal  seasons  glad  his  court. 

SECOND. 

Health  to  the  king,  our  noble  king  whose  reign 
Is  loved  and  lauded  in  the  hearts  of  all. 


ST.    JOHN.  87 

THIRD. 

Bright  is  the  sparkle  of  this  flowing  bowl  ; 
Long  days  to  him  whose  smile  illumes  it  more. 

FOURTH. 

Our  universal  voice  this  goblet  speaks, 
Health  to  the  royal  bounty  which  bestows  it. 
May  no  unfriendlier  sound  disturb  his  ear 
Whilst  with  the  pulse  of  life  it  warmly  thrills. 
Than  the  glad  music  of  the  minstrel"  s  lyre 
That  warbles  now  and  fills  with  rapture  all. 

KING. 

Now  youths  and  maidens  !  form  the  mazy  ring, 
Ye  of  the  gay  of  heart  and  light  of  limb ! 
Lead  on  the  sprightly  dance,  and  add  new  mirth 
To  the  high  pleasure  of  the  festive  scene. 
Awake  a  lively  measure,  sons  of  song  ! 
And  call  the  beauty  of  the  banquet  forth. 

MINSTRELS. 

The  scene  how  blest !  The  time  how  sweet ! 
When  love  and  joy  and  beauty  meet, 
To  trip  the  dance's  mazy  round, 
In  season  with  the  lyre's  sweet  sound  ! 
Light  feet  of  youth  !  0  may  ye  long 
Beat  answer  to  the  minstrel's  song, 
And  may  such  graces  still  inspire 
The  heavenly  music  of  his  lyre  ! 

(A  youthful  band  advance  and  dance  together.) 
KING, {viewing  the  dancers) 

0  bliss  of  boyhood  !  every  pleasing  view 
Presented  now  reminds  me  of  thy  day. 


38  ST.    /OHN. 

So  light  they  trip  along  they  do  not  seem 

Like  beings  of  this  nether  world,  but  rather 

Inhabitants  of  some  etherial  clime 

That  know  no  other  thought  save  that  of  joy. 

Yes.  I  beheld  (ere  thro'  those  scanty  locks 

The  wreath  of  years  was  wove)  full  many  a  dance  : 

But  in  my  happiest  glee  I  never  saw 

Such  sylph-like  forms  as  flit  before  me  now. 

(Dance  ends.) 

Blest  hearts  !  enjoy  the  pleasure  youth  bestows : 
Bask  in  the  sunshine  ere  the  cloud  comes  on. 

(Enter  the  Queen  and  Damsel.) 
ANGELICA. 
Again  that  strain,  ye  gray-haired  bards  !  I  would, 
Since  it  so  pleases,  thrid  a  measure,  too. 

(She  dances.) 

KING. 
What  grace  in  every  step,  in  every  turn  ! 
My  admiration  of  the  rest  ran  high, 
But  now  it  far  surpasses  ev'ry  thought. 
Her  heart,  her  eyes,  her  frame,  her  very  breath 
With  every  quaver  of  the  strain  accords. 

(She  withdraws.) 

Sweet  child  !  approach  and  let  me  kiss  thy  charms. 
For  thou  has  pleased  me  to  the  highest  pitch 
By  the  late  movement  of  thy  graceful  form. 
Come  ask  of  me  whate'er  thy  soul  desires. 
And  I  will  give  it  thee,  however  dear  ; 
Ask.  and  I  swear  by  yon  fair  orb  of  night, 
I'll  give  it  thee  tho'  it  be  half  my  kingdom. 


ST.    JOHN.  89 

DAMSEL. 

0  mighty  King  !  what  can  I  crave  of  thee  ? 
The  hour  bestows  whate'er  the  heart  could  seek. 
E'en  to  the  full  is  filled  each  fond  desire. 

Wine,  love,  and  music,  pleasure,  peace,  and  song 
Glow  all  around  and  bless  this  blissful  night. 
Amid  the  scene  where  such  delights  are  found, 
Where  is  the  spirit  that  would  sigh  for  more  ? 

KING. 
Nay — there  is  something  which  thou  hast  not  yet ; 
What  thou  hast  named  includes  not  every  joy  ; 

1  must  present  thee  with  some  fitting  gift 
Worthy  the  pleasure  which  thou  gav'st  me  now. 

DAMSEL. 

Then  let  me  seek  the  mother  of  my  life, 
Since  thy  benevolence  must  have  its  way : 
She  will  direct  me  to  the  proper  choice. 


{Exit.) 


QUEEN,  (aside.) 
0  opportune  event !  the  king  tho'  cold  * 
To  all  my  cravings  for  the  same  request 
Must  now  comply ;  his  royal  word  is  passed. 
Thrice  blessed  event !  by  thee  I  am  avenged  ! 
Prepare  now.  Pseudo-Seer  !  to  meet  thy  doom. 

DAMSEL,  (standing  before  the  King.) 

Behold,  0  King  !  the  tenor  of  my  wish  ! 

KING. 

Speak,  speak  it  bold,  I'm  ready  to  comply, 

8^ 


90  ST.    JOHN. 

DAMSEL. 
Then  be  not  startled  when  thou  hear'st  my  want. 

KING. 

What  means  my  Daughter  by  such  mystic  words  ] 

DAMSEL. 
J>ecause  I  know  that  thou  wilt  find  it  hard 
To  grant  me  my  request,  when  I  require 
The  head  of  John  the  Baptist  in  a  charger. 

KING,  (unheeding.) 

Speak,  speak,  my  child !  why  dost  thou  hesitate  1 

DAMSEL. 

Behold,  My  Lord  !  it  is  already  spoken 


The  head  of  John  the  Baptist  in  a  charger  ? 


KING,  (Seized  as  with  a  panic.) 

What  hast  thou  said  ?— What  ?— My  Angelica  f 

Is  it  thy  semblance  or  thyself  I  see  ? 

Is  this  reality? — Or  is  it  dream? — 

'Tis  sleep.     I  slumber,  let  me  waken.     Where — 

Where  am  I  ?     No — It  is  no  vision  this  ; 

Alas  !  it  is  too  true — alas  !  alas  ! 

He  whom  I  spared  so  long  at  length  must  die. 

Oh  !  that  I  could  recall  the  fatal  promise  ! 

But  now  it  is  too  late — it  was  a  king's. 

Go,  headsmen  !  go  and  do  the  murderous  deed. 

( Stillest  silence  prevails  throughout  the  entire  hall.  The  heralds  go 
fo  perform  the  order*  and  after  a  long  deep  reverie  the  king  goes 
on  to  exclaim.) 


ST.    JOIIX.  91 

Insufferable  error  !  fatal  promise  ! 
Pernicious  banquet,  the  sad  cause  of  all ! 
0  woman  !  woman  !  thou  deceitful  spirit ! 
Veiled  in  the  mask  of  innocence  and  love, 
In  thy  true  self,  the  compound  of  all  ill ! 
How  am  I  conquered  by  thy  wicked  wiles  !  ! 
0  John,  thou  holy  Prophet !     0  forgive  me  ! 
Th'  irrevocable  word  is  given — 'tis  not 
The  fault  of  him  who  perpetrates  the  deed, 
Who  saved  thee  long  from  treachery  in  vain. 
0  John,  thou  holy  prophet !  0  forgive  me. 

(By  this  time  all  except  the  Damsel  and  a  few  of  the  Courtiers  have 
left  the  hall.  The  King  remains  in  deep  reflection  until  a  messen- 
ger arrives  with  the  tidings  of  John's  death. 

MESSENGER. 
The  deed,  0  King !  thou  order'st  is  performed. 

KING,  (pointing  to  the  Damsel.) 
Then  give  the  bloody  present  unto  her 
Who  lately  charmed,  but  now  who  has  undone  me. 
Too  easy  man  !  that  let'st  this  world's  delights 
So  quickly  win  away  thy  captured  heart, 
Be  not  too  hasty  in  thy  resolutions, 
But  weigh  them  well  and  ever  think  on  me. 


OCCASIONAL    PIECES 


THE  YOUNG  ACOLYTHES  DEATH. 

The  sweet,  the  sinless  child  has  passed  from  earth  away, 
As  fades  beneath  the  cloud  some  beam  of  early  day ; 
The  brightest  morn,  alas  !  but  seldom  brings  bright  noon, 
And  so  with  thee,  young  flower !  that  bow'd  thy  head  so 
soon. 

Ah  !  'tis  a  gloomy  thought  to  know  that  we  must  part 
With  all  we  feel  is  near  and  dear  to  home  and  heart, 
And  that  the  beam  of  life  which  brighten' d  most  our  hearth 
Must  be  the  first  to  sink  beneath  the  cold  dark  earth. 

Fond  sisters  now  wail  loud  the  sad  and  sudden  blight 
Of  him  they  loved  as  much  as  e'er  they  loved  the  light ; 
And  wild  a  father  weeps  above  the  dear  dead  boy, 
His  blasted  op'ning  rose,  his  solace  and  his  joy. 

0  they  will  hail  again  the  presence  of  that  Spring 
Which  o'er  their  sorrows  soon  shall  wave  her  purple  wing; 
But  ah  !  they'll  find  no  bud  in  all  her  world  of  flow'rs, 
Like  that  whose  dawning  bloom  has  just  now  passed  from 
ours. 

0  'tis  not  weak  in  one  who  leads  a  life  like  mine 
To  come  from  high  things  down  to  heed  a  child's  decline  ; 
The  purest  and  the  best  that  ever  graced  our  sphere, 
Made  such  as  gentle  Hugh  his  fondest  care  while  here. 


OCCASIONAL     PIECES.  90 

Around  the  altar  bright  we'll  see  no  more  that  face 
Whose  brow  so  pure  became  so  well  that  calm  sweet  place: 
And  when  around  that  rail  the  worshippers  shall  throng. 
They'll  think  of  him  their  pride  and  love  his  memory  long. 

Our  hearts  had  fondly  thought  to  see  him  one  day  shine 
In  sacred  robes  of  light  a  Priest  of  that  same  shrine  : 
Hope  sang  the  golden  song — Hope  told  the  thrilling  tale — 
Ah  !  strain  and  story  now  but  wilder  swell  our  wail. 

The  church-yard  clay  to  night  is  scatter' d  o'er  his  brow. 
And  mournful  is  the  shade  that  wraps  his  slumber  now  : 
His  father's  house  is  sad  and  lonely  as  his  tomb. 
And  nought  is  met  with  there  but  killing  grief  and  gloom. 

Away — what  words  are  these  ]  Why  speak  I  here  of  woe  ? 
While  heav'nly  paeans  ring  should  human  sorrows  flow  ? 
A  captive  soul  is  freed — a  fadeless  crown  is  won — 
Weep,  Sisters  !  Sire  !  no  moreyour  brother,  or  your  son. 


THE     CHARITY     FAIR. 

Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  runic  rhyme, 
To  the  tintinabulation  that  so  musically  wells 
From  the  bells,  bells,  bells, 

Bells,  bells,  bells, 
To  the  rhyming  and  the  chiming, 
Of  the  Bells. 

Edgar  A.  Toe. 


94  OCCASIONAL   PIECES. 


'Tis  the  morning  of  the  Fair, 

Fancy's  Fair  ! 
What  a  world  of  loveliness 
Does  it  not  now  prepare  ! 
How  it  beams  and  burns  and  glows 
Thro'  the  chrystal  of  the  sky  ! 
How  it  gathers,  as  it  goes, 
Brethren,  kindred,  friends  and  foes 
To  the  bright  hall  gleaming  by  ! 

Binding  all,  all,  all, 
In  a  happy,  joyous  thrall, 
With  the  grand  agglomeration  of  the  glitter  and  the  glare 
Of  the  fair,  fair,  fair, 

Fair,  fair,  fair, 
With  the  witchery  and  the  stichery 

Of  the  fair! 

II. 
'Tis  the  morning  of  the  Fair, 

Christmas'  Fair ! 
What  a  blessing  is  in  store, 
For  all  who  gather  there  ! 
In  the  golden  glare  of  day 
How  it  flaunts  its  rich  array  ! — 
'Bound  the  glory  and  the  glow 

(Bright  as  noon) 
Of  that  radiant  rainbow-row 
Many  a  ditty  flows  and  floats,  lively,  loud  and  low, 
All  in  tune : 
0  from  out  the  show  sublime, 


OCCASIONAL    PIECES.  95 

What  high  deeds  of  charity  magnificently  climb  ! 
How  they  rhyme 
With  the  chime 
Of  the  royal  Christmas  time. 
Whose  glad  air 
Every  where 
Flings  a  halo  'round  the  care 
Of  projector  and  protector  of  the  fair,  fair,  fair. 
Fair,  fair,  fair, 
Ever  glorious,  all  victorious. 
Sounding, 
Bounding, 
Blest, 
Best. 
Fair  ! 
Binding  all,  all,  all 

In  a  golden,  glorious  thrall,  [flare 

With  the  matchless  concentration  of  the  flashing  and  the 
Of  the  fair,  fair,  fair, 
Fair,  fair,  fair, 
With  the  treasures  and  the  pleasures 

Of  the  fair, 
With  the  captures  and  the  raptures 
Of  the  fair,  fair,  fair, 
Fair,  fair,  fair, 
With  the  graces  and  the  faces 
Of  the  fair  ! 

III. 
:Tis  the  morning  of  the  fair, 
Beauty's  fair  ! 


OG  OCCASIONAL   PIECES. 

What  a  world  of  transport  now  its  blest  attendants  share  ! 
O'er  the  skies  so  blue  and  bright. 
How  it  flings  its  purple  light ! 
All  the  flower  of  all  the  city, 
Merry,  cherry,  pretty,  witty, 

Full  in  bloom  ;  [the  town. 

In  a  gay  concatenation  length' ning,  strength' ning  thro' 
Like  a  starry  constellation  bright'ning,  light' ning  all  the 
Hurry-skurry,  hasten  down  [town. 

In  their  pomp  of  bright  and  brown. 
Yellow  locks,  and  raven  tresses, 
Gala  looks,  and  gala  dresses, 
To  gladden,  madden,  cheer,  illume  ! 
0  the  fair,  fair,  fair — 
Loyal,  royal,  radiant,  rare. 

Past  compare  ! 
How  it  fires  the  heart  and  frame, 
Sets  the  very  soul  on  flame,  [air ! 

With  the  splendors  it  engenders  filling,  thrilling  earth  and 
Binding  all,  all,  all 
In  a  gentle,  joyous  thrall, 
With  the  sweetness  and  the  neatness 

Of  the  fair ; 
With  the  dashing  and  the  flashing 
Of  the  fair, 
With  the  glitter,  and  the  twitter,  and  the  titter 
Of  the  Fair, 
Fair,  fair,  fair,  fair,  fair,  fair, 
With  the  spirit  and  the  merit, 
And  the  bliss  they  all  inherit 
From  the  fair. 


OCCASIONAL    PIECES.  97 

IV. 

*Tis  the  morning  of  the  Fair, 

Virtue's  Fair  ! 
What  a  world  of  holiest  fruits 
Is  it  not  born  to  bear  ! 
Blooming  offspring  of  the  sky, 
When  shall  they  be  doomed  to  die, 
Of  a  particle  of  glory  e'er  be  shorn  1 
Faith,  our  faith  shall  pass  away, 
Hope  shall  wither  and  decay, 

— Stars  of  Morn — 
But  such  fruits  shall  live  and  shine, 
Beauteous,  deathless,  and  divine, 

Heav'n's  High  Born 

Which  the  virtues  all  adorn, 

Poured  by  charity  the  Spirit 

Full  from  out  her  flowing  horn. 

Peace  shall  bless  the  Orphan  Boy, 

Weary  bosoms  bound  with  joy, 

Tears  dry  up, 

And  the  widow's  lips  shall  sup 

From  out  the  congo-cup, 

A  cup  of  that  blest  Fair ; — 

And  her  face  again  shall  wear 

From  the  fulness  of  the  Fair, 

All  its  long-lost  light  and  air ; — 

And  she'll  bless  that  glad  fare-day, 

Holy,  happy,  gorgeous,  gay, 

With  her  heart-felt,  whole-soul  pray'rs 

For  the  monuments  it  rears  ! 

Binding  all,  all,  all, 
9 


98  OCCASIONAL    PIECES. 

In  a  hymen  heav'nly  thrall, 
With  the  savors, 
With  the  favors 

Of  the  Fair,  [stowing 

With  the  glowing  and  the  flowing,  with  the  bountiful  be- 
Of  the  Fair, 
With  the  rivers  of  redundance 
From  the  givers  of  abundance, 
With  that  ocean 
Of  Devotion 
In  its  undulating  motion, 
With  ev'ry  note  and  notion 
Of  the  Fair! 


THE   CHURCH. 

Muse  of  the  many  voices !  there's  a  theme 
Which  none  have  sung  of  in  the  halls  of  song ; 
Arouse  thee  quickly  from  thy  lengthened  dream, 
And  wake  those  numbers  that  have  slumbered  long. 
In  such  a  lay  thy  spirit  should  be  strong, 
For  heav'n  arrays  it  with  such  life  and  light, 
As  thrill  and  dazzle  the  surrounding  throng 
With  things  of  bliss  so  beautifully  bright, 
As  lift  the  soul  aloft,  and  put  the  world  to  flight. 

II. 
Behold  the  Bride  of  glory  and  of  grace  ! 
What  could  e'en  Fancy  picture  half  so  fair  7 


OCCASIONAL    PIECES.  99 

Hail,  lovely  Mother  of  our  ransomed  race  ! 
How  high  thy  bearing !  how  divine  thy  air ! 
I  bless  thee  with  a  son's  most  earnest  pray'r, 
And  praise  the  power  that  formed  thy  loveliness  : 
Deep  are  the  raptures  I  was  born  to  share, 
But  it  is  thou  that  art  my  joy's  excess, 
I  clasp  thee  to  my  soul,  and  would  no  more  possess. 

in. 

Thine  are  the  mightiest  of  the  mighty  hearts. 
Thine  are  the  brightest  of  the  sons  of  lore ; 
Thine  are  the  masters  in  the  field  of  arts  : 
Thine  are  the  wisest  of  the  wise  of  yore ; 
Thine  is  an  empire  filling  every  shore  ; 
Thine  is  a  glory  far  outshining  all : 
Thine  is  a  God  unknown  to  men  before, 
On  whom  alone  the  true  believers  call ; 
Can  we  contemplate  such,  nor  down  in  worship  fall  1 

IV. 

0  thou,  to  whom  the  promises  were  given  ! 
0  thou,  the  vision  of  the  seers  of  old ! 
0  thou,  the  treas'ry  of  the  gifts  of  heaven  ! 
0  thou,  the  sanctuary  of  the  one  true  fold  ! 
Thou  in  whose  records  are  the  saints  enrolled, 
'Gainst  whom  the  gates  of  hell  can  ne'er  prevail, 
Shrine  of  our  hopes,  arrayed  in  gems  and  gold, 
Whose  living  lights  are  never  doomed  to  fail, 
Hail,  wonder  of  the  world  !  thou  mightiest  wonder  !  hail. 


100  OCCASIONAL    PIECES. 

V. 

City  of  light  that  stand' st  upon  the  mountain, 
Diffusing  radiance  on  the  world  around  ! 
In  thee  is  springing  Grace's  sacred  fountain 
"With  which  the  soul  with  every  good  is  crowned. 
"Without  thy  gate  is  Error's  gloom  profound. 
And  life  is  withered,  hope  is  all  unknown, 
And  sin  is  seen,  and  woe  and  want  abound, 
And  naught  remains  that  Truth  might  call  her  own  ; 
The  place  where  h(3or  dwells,  and  Moloch  has  his  throne. 

VI. 

We  turn  our  thoughts  to  ages  now  no  more, 
And  trace  the  rise  of  many  an  empire  vast, 
Renowned  for  arts,  and  chivalry,  and  lore, 
As  make  a  marvel  of  the  glorious  Past ; 
We  mark  them  grow  and  strengthen,  ripen  fast. 
Until  their  fame  fills  all  the  spacious  earth, 
Then  down  we  see  them  rushing,  till  at  last 
It  seems  as  tho'  they  never  had  their  birth  ; 
Ruins  and  ruins'  ashes,  death,  decay  and  dearth. 

VII. 

We  look  again,  and  thou  too  meet'st  our  view. 
Struggling,  like  those,  against  the  shocks  of  time. 
And  daily  growing  into  splendor,  too, 
With  brow  of  hope,  and  stately  march  sublime  : 
Foes  rage — storms  roar — ambition  strives  to  climb — 
All  man's  worst  agencies  are  all  in  arms  ; 
The  day  is  darkened  with  the  things  of  crime, 
And  the  old  world  is  filled  with  wild  alarms  : 
The  nations  reel  and  fall :  thou  stand' st  secure  of  harms. 


OCCASIOXAL    PIECES.  101 

VIII. 

And  twice  nine  centuries  have  rolled  away, 
With  each  its  thousand  hosts  to  lay  thee  low, 
But  thou  did'st  scatter  all  the  fell  array, 
As  the  spring's  sun  dissolves  the  winter's  snow. 
What  are  they  now  1 — a  blast  blown  long  ago — 
Something  to  chronicle  and  name  with  scorn, 
A  sign  of  shame  for  every  frantic  foe 
That  may  arise  in  ages  yet  unborn, 
But  all  to  grace  thy  spoils,  and  thee  alone  adorn. 

IX. 

And  they  are  gone,  and  thou  art  still  the  same, 
And  brighter  is  the  bloom  of  this  thy  year, 
And  hope  is  weaving  thee  a  lovlier  name, 
The  future  bringeth  not  a  shade  of  fear ; 
Ev?n  to  thy  foes  art  thou  becoming  dear, 
Thy  loveliness  is  beaming  on  them  now, — 
Surely  the  finger  of  our  God  is  here, 
Here,  placed  upon  the  glory  of  thy  brow, 
Which  reason  well  declares,  would  prejudice  avow. 

x. 

In  gazing  on  thee  rapture  fills  my  eye, 

And  holy  awe  restrains  my  beating  breast ; 

My  soul  goes  mounting  to  her  native  sky, 

By  thee  inspired  to  seek  the  land  of  rest. 

Beauteous  emporium  of  the  good  and  blest ! 

Who  would  not  kiss  thee  in  his  spirit's  joy, 

In  thus  possessing  all  that's  highest,  best 

Of  all  that  calls  for  eulogy's  employ, 

Or  lives  beyond  the  things  that  ruin  may  destroy  ? 
9* 


102  OCCASIONAL    PIECES. 

ELEGY: 

ON  THE   REV.    JOHN   NUGENT. 

In  ev'ry  field  now  every  flow'r  is  faded, 

And  summer's  beams  have  wholly  passed  away; 

With  winter-shadows  all  the  world  is  shaded, 
And  life  looks  weary  of  the  sombre  day. 

The  flow'rs  be  drooped,  the  summer-suns  be  clouded  : 
Those  yet  shall  blossom,  and  these  still  shall  rise ; 

A  flower  is  withered,  and  a  light  is  shrouded. 
That  never  more  shall  glad  our  weeping  eyes. 

A  flower  of  friendship,  and  a  light  of  learning. 

To  me  far  more,  a  brother  tried  and  true, 
Has  gone  away  to  get  a  martyr's  earning — 

Gladd'ning  indeed,  but  ah  !  how  sadd'ning.  too  f 

Fain  would  I  hie  me  to  the  laurel  bowers. 

And  wreathe  a  chaplet  'round  his  living  brow  ; 
The  crown  is  braided  with  more  fitting  flowers. 

In  those  which  grace  him  in  his  glory  now. 

0  who  is  he  whose  heart  has  not  admired  him 
In  whom  was  centered  all  that's  truly  fair  I 

Bright  virtue  graced  him,  and  bright  genius  fired  him. 
And  homes  were  happy  when  his  smile  was  there. 

( )  who  is  he  whose  spirit  has  not  lov'd  him, 
In  whom  had  charity  her  firmest  seat  ? 

The  sigh  of  mis'ry  ever  deeply  mov'd  him. 
And  grief  grew  gladness  at  his  accents  sweet. 


OCCASIONAL    PIECES.  108 

And  who  is  lie  who  ever  shall  forget  him. 

The  uncomplaining,  yet  the  ever  tried  l 
By  whom  such  bright  examples  have  been  set  him. 

Th'  Apostle's  zeal,  the  hero's  power  and  pride  1 

I  knew  him  well — I  knew  him  o'er  all  others  ; 

The  self-same  object  was  our  mutual  aim  ; 
Our  lot  and  living  made  us  more  than  brothers  : 

Who,  then,  will  chide,  if  thus  I  laud  his  name  I 

Few  knew  the  power  o'er  which  I  now  am  mourning  ; 

Few  knew  the  virtue  which  he  made  his  care  ; 
His  was  the  light  beneath  a  bushel  burning ; 

His  was  the  fragrance  on  a  desert  air. 

He  had  the  skill  to  chase  the  harp's  deep  slumbers, 
And  make  it  warble  what  but  he  could  sing ; 

The  world  that  heard  them  hath  pronounced  his  numbers 
Tuneful  as  those  which  thrill  the  songful  spring. 

The  brightest  member  of  the  sacred  Order, 
On  wild  Acadia's  rock-surrounded  shore. 

As  pure  a  priest  as  ever  found  Rewarder — 
Ah !  must  I  think  that  such  is  ours  no  more  1 

Of  the  glad  Three  that  poured,  at  Alma  Mater, 
In  mingled  music,  those  congenial  strains 

Vanished  now  quite,  like  letters  traced  on  water. 
One,  only  one,  is  all  that  now  remains. 

Above  the  first  I've  sung  the  song  of  sorrow, 
Low  o'er  the  second  sounds  my  sadd'ning  ky 

When  o'er  the  last  shall  break  the  final  morrow, 
No  brother's  harp  shall  mourn  the  breathless  clay. 


104  OCCASIONAL     PIECES. 

So  let  it  be ; — jet  may  my  hopeful  spirit 
Cherish  the  vision  that  my  friends,  now  fled, 

Gaining  for  me  the  glory  they  inherit, 
Will  sing  the  better  paean  o'er  their  dead. 

Farewell,  then,  Father !  loved  of  our  affection  ! 

My  tears  fall  fast  above  thy  lonely  shrine  ; 
I  joy,  withal,  at  this  thy  bright  election, 

Of  which  I  hope  the  like  may  yet  be  mine. 

How  lone  a  thing  is  this  sad  separation, 
No  heart  but  one  can  ever  truly  tell ; 

Ne'er  may  we  know  again  such  desolation — 
Farewell,  associate,  brother,  friend!  Farewell. 


EASTER. 

Tiie  dawn  of  our  Triumph  hath  shone, 

'Tis  the  First  of  all  Festival  days, 
The  new  robe  of  joy  put  we  on, 

And  shout  out  the  paean  of  praise. 
The  angel  has  come  from  his  throne, 

The  guards  are  all  scattered  and  fled, 
Removed  is  the  sepulchre's  stone, 

And  Jesus  awakes  from  the  dead. 

All  life  feels  the  pulse  of  delight, 
The  forests  are  rapturous  with  song, 

The  world  is  extatic  and  bright, 
Where  sorrow  and  shadow  lay  long. 


OCCASIONAL    PIE>  105 

The  bondman  has  burst  from  his  chains. 

And  dashed  the  deep  gloom  from  his  brow  : 
Young  Freedom  is  warbling  her  strains. 

And  all  is  high  jubilee  now. 

With  charms  earth  and  air  are  replete. 

The  stream  rolls  more  happily  by, 
The  wind  has  a  whisper  more  sweet. 

Xew  splendor  illumines  the  sky. 
Our  altars  are  bright  as  the  morn, 

And  sweeter,  and  fairer  than  flow'rs. 
'Tis  now  that  we  truly  are  born, 

And  more  than  was  Eden's  is  ours. 

And  hark  to  the  sweet  silver  bells 

That  summon  the  christian  to  pray"r  ! 
While  ' round  us  their  euphony  swells. 

Heav'n  opes,  and  we  seem  to  be  there. 
With  music  of  anthem  and  hymn. 

Awake,  then,  and  welcome  the  day. 
Whose  glory  will  never  grow  dim. 

Though  heaven  and  earth  pass  away. 


0    SALUTARIS    HOSTIA 

0  sacred  victim  of  sanctification  ! 
Man  of  all  sorrows  !  yet  Lord  of  creation  ! 
Origin,  fountain,  and  source  of  salvation  ! 
Spare  the  Departed. 


106  OCCASIONAL    PIECES. 

Thou  who  alone  art  the  hope  of  our  race  ! 
The  mighty  Emmanuel,  the  treasure  of  grace  ! 
That  cleansest  and  clearest  from  every  foul  trace  ! 
Spare  the  Departed. 

By  the  warm  flow  of  our  fond  aspirations, 
By  the  sad  sight  of  our  lowly  prostrations, 
Hear,  Jesus  !  hear  these  our  soul's  supplications  ! 
Spare  the  Departed. 

Best,  loving  Lord  !  in  thy  mansions  divine, 
The  fond  faithful  spirits  who  sighed  to  be  thine, 
And  on  them  let  light  everlastingly  shine  ! 
Spare  the  Departed. 


THE    ORDINATION. 

The  morn  began  to  shine. 
And  earth  was  gladdened  by  the  dawning  ray ; 
Two  forms  were  bowed  before  a  lighted  shrine, 
Fresh  with  the  beauty  of  life's  earlier  day. 

In  blissful  trance  they  seemed, 
With  hands  upraised,  and  eyes  cast  down  to  earth, 
While  all  of  which  in  that  still  hour  they  dreamed 
Was  the  pure  clime  where  spirits  have  their  birth. 

No  mother,  sire  was  near. 
No  brother,  sister  gazed  upon  them  then  ; 
A  foreign  land  stretched  far  around  them  here. 
With  all  that's  strange  in  manners,  scenes  and  men. 


OCCASIONAL    PIECES.  103 

Twas  not  the  glowing  hour. 
When  love  and  beauty  plight  their  mutual  truth. 
::  To  have,  to  hold"  despite  each  adverse  pow'r. 
Amid  old  age  the  changeless  flame  of  youth. 

They  hung  no  votive  wreath. 
Upon  the  altar  for  an  odour  sweet, 
For  summer-flow*  rs  had  long  since  ceased  to  breathe, 
And  autumn  winds  now  hurried  fierce  and  fleet. 

And  why,  then,  stood  they  there  7 
To  shun  the  path  that  broadly  leads  to  hell. 
To  walk  the  road  that  lies  thro'  purer  air, 
They  came  to  bid  the  stormy  world  farewell. 

Could  earth  no  pleasure  give. 
And  did  no  charm  adom  her  smiling  face  1 
Could  their  young  hearts  thus  isolated  live. 
Wild  recreant  wand'rers  from  their  slighted  race  J 

Away — vile  thought !  away 

The  world  was  fair,  was  glorious  to  their  eye  ; 
Blest  was  it  too,  with  many  a  blissful  day, 
But  0  there  was  a  brighter  world  on  high. 

And,  holy,  high  exchange  ! 
Before  the  shrine  for  this  they  prostrate  fell  : 
And  they  were  blest,  nor  deem  their  rapture  strange. 
Since  in  that  fall  was  folly's  fun'ral  knell. 

They  vowed  a  solemn  vow, 
To  spread  that  truth  for  which  a  Saviour  died, 


108  OCCASIONAL    PIECES. 

That  thou  should' st  live,  0  man  of  strife  !  and  thou 
Whose  heart  is  filled  with  pleasure,  passion,  pride. 

They  left  home,  friends  and  all. 
All  things  which  mortal  will  most  dearly  prize, 
To  follow  nobly  in  that  hallowed  call, 
Which  brought  the  Just  One  from  the  starry  skies. 

They  chose  withal  the  path, 
In  which  a  John,  a  Paul,  a  Peter  trod, 
Who,  all  despite  of  swords  and  racks  and  wrath, 
Defied  the  world,  and  gained  the  home  of  God. 

And  may  they  long  rejoice. 
And  sure  and  bright  the  future  glory  be 
Of  all,  0  Lord !  who  know  the  better  choice, 
Of  leaving  all  things  and  of  loving  Thee. 


INDIFFERENTISM. 

tfl  don't  hold  to  any  creed  in  particular." — Cant  of  the  day* 

And  is  it  thus  that  reasoning  man  is  found 
At  this  late  period  of  the  nations'  light, 
When  the  Lord's  Gospel  hath  been  spread  around 
In  every  place  where  mortal  meets  the  sight  1 
Will  the  mind  still  be  dark  with  pagan  night, 
Despite  the  deeds  Evangelists  have  done, 
To  make  man's  deathless  spirit  pure  and  bright, 
By  the  blest  blood  of  God's  atoning  son, 
And  worthy  of  the  palm  which  sainted  ones  have  won  ? 


OCCASIONAL    PIECES.  109 

Was  it  for  this,  Oh  !  was  it  but  for  this, 
(Alas  !  the  depth  of  our  iniquity  !) 
That  thou,  0  Lord,  did'st  leave  thy  place  of  bliss, 
And  bear  the  wrongs  "which  malice  heaped  on  Thee  ? 
For  this,  the  torture  of  the  cruel  tree, 
The  shame  and  scandal  of  a  universe — 
For  this,  the  triumph  by  which  we  are  free — 
And  thou,  our  God  !  wast  made  for  us  a  curse  ? 
Ah !  what  is  man  at  last  tho'  ransomed  ?  better  ? — worse  ! 

Why  were  Apostles  told  to  teach  mankind* 
And  seal  them  with  redemption's  sacred  sign, 
If  men  should  not,  with  heart  and  soul  and  mind. 
Bow  swift  obedience  to  the  voice  divine  ? 
Is  every  one  appointed  to  define, 
And  take  what  course  imagination  may  ? 
Can  each  erect  his  own  peculiar  shrine, 
And  spurn  that  Church  which  all  should  still  obey  1 
Not  so, — if  you  believe  "the  Life,  the  Truth,  the  Way." 

Is  God's  own  empire  with  a  king  all  wise, 
To  have  less  order  than  a  worldly  state  ? 
Reflect  and  sec  what  num'rous  feuds  would  rise 
If  every  subject  would  himself  dictate. 
What  would,  I  ask  you,  be  the  nation's  fate, 
With  such  a  Babel  of  untrammelled  guides  ? 
Soon  would  its  reign  be  o'er,  however  great. 
And  desolation  come  with  rapid  strides, 
And  fill  those  lovely  parts   where  glory  now  abides. 

0  Lord  of  justice  !  Lord  of  truth  and  love  ! 
Wilt  thou  not  hurl  the  vengeance  of  the  skies. 
10 


HO  OCCASIONAL    PIECES. 

On  all  that  here  forget  those  joys  above, 
To  which  still  turn  ten  thousand  hearts  and  eyes  \ 
Woe  to  the  tribe  who  first  made  men  despise 
That  which  alone  is  worthy  thought  below, 
Who  made  them  spurn  thy  sorrows,  suff'rings,  cries. 
And  all  that  world  of  bitter  scoff  and  woe,  [flow. 

Which  bade  e'en  murd'rers  weep,  and  Nature's  eyes  o'er- 

Not  thus  men  lived  in  happy  days  gone  by ; 
Devotion  then  burned  warm  in  every  breast, 
And  there  were  none  that  failed  to  look  on  high, 
With  frequent  longings  for  that  realm  of  rest. 
One  fold,  one  faith,  the  nations  wide  confessed, 
Nor  was  the  Gospel  preached  as  now,  in  vain  : 
With  peace  and  harmony  the  world  was  blest, 
And  happiness  upheld  her  golden  reign, 
But  ah  !  the  spoiler  rose,  and  joy  and  hope  were  slain  : 

And  men  grew  cold,  and  virtue  faded  fast, 
And  immorality  spread  far  and  wide  ; 
The  hearts  of  millions  hardened,  till  at  last, 
The  world  stood  stubborn  in  its  growing  pride : 
The  life  of  olden  fervour  gasped  and  died, 
And  worse  than  heathenism  followed  then  ; 
Rise,  Lord  of  might !    and  turn  this  flood  aside  ! 
0  rise  and  save  the  hapless  sons  of  men, 
And  leave  them  not,  0  God  !  the  prey  of  hell  again. 

Is  this  the  reformation  they  have  made  ? 

It  is,  alas  !  but  mocks  it  not  the  name  ? 

Curse  on  their  mem'ries — they  have  sadly  strayed. 

As  truth  and  justice  cannot  but  exclaim. 


OCCASIONAL    PIECES.  Ill 

Dimmed  is  the  lustre  of  Faith's  heav'nly  flame — 
Broken  the  union  of  the  one  true  Fold — 
Thwarted  the  end  for  which  Emmanuel  came — 
Hideous  the  -world  once  beauteous  to  behold  — 
And  all  the  woes  are  here  which  have  been  long  foretold. 

0  for  the  joys  of  vanished  years  once  more, 
When  "  Holy  Church"  was  recognized  by  all. 
When  none  but  brothers  met  at  every  door, 
Castle,  and  manor,  garden,  bower,  and  hall ! 
But  ah  !  the  mis'ry  of  this  time  of  thrall, 
In  which  so  many  millions  now  are  bound  ! 
Who  does  not  wail  it,  and  on  Mercy  call, 
That  soon  the  galling  chain  may  be  unwound, 
And  freedom  dawn  once  more,  and  ancient  sights  surround  ? 

Be  mine,  then,  She  of  the  unbroken  chain 
That  clasps  the  future,  binds  us  to  the  past, 
Oft  aimed  at  to  be  trampled,  but  in  vain, 
By  hell's  dark  hosts  in  desperation  classed. 
She  was  the  first,  and  she  shall  be  the  last, 
With  hope,  the  charmer,  throwing  such  a  ray 
Around  her  brow,  as  bids  us  follow  fast, 
And  gain  the  life  to  which  it  lights  away, 
Leading  us  on  to  climes  where  blooms  eternal  dav. 


THE   PRIEST'S    CHOICE. 

I  saw  a  tomb  uprooted  from  the  earth. 

And  in  that  tomb  I  saw  long  locks  of  hair. 


112  OCCASIONAL    PIECES. 

And  eyeless  holes  where  beauty  once  had  birth, 
And  teeth  all  darkened,  and  defiled,  and  bare. 

The  frame  within,  tho'  once  a  queenly  form, 
Was  such  a  sight  as  I  no  more  would  see, 

My  heart  grew  sick  to  mark  the  dismal  worm. 
Feeding  upon  that  clay  so  busily  ! 

The  sight  drew  men  around  it,  and  they  shed 
Full  many  a  bitter  tear  above  that  tomb, 

And  loud  they  sorrowed  that  the  youthful  head 
So  soon  should  moulder  in  the  grave-yard's  gloom. 

Youth  !  Love  !  and  Beauty  !  what  are  ye  at  last  ? 

Are  ye  not  told  in  many  a  truthful  strain  ? 
A  sound — a  happy  dream  that  soon  is  passed, — 

A  sad  remembrance,  beautiful  as  vain  1 

I  sighed  and  passed ;  but  soon  I  chose  the  way 
Which  now  I  walk  in,  and  which  I  shall  hold. 

Till  death's  deep  mists  obscure  my  visual  ray, 
And  lay  me,  too,  beneath  the  coffin's  mould. 

The  world  regards  me  as  a  wretched  one 
Shut  out  from  all  the  pleasures  of  my  race, 

Condemned  to  wander  in  my  course,  alone, 
And  feel  but  sadness  in  the  gladdest  place. 

S- »  let  it  dream :  but  I  possess  a  lot 

Which  seems,  and  is  immeasurably  blest ; 

I  have  a  rapture  which  it  knoweth  not, 
A  holy  calm — a  more  than  mortal  rest. 


OCCASIONAL    PIECES.  113 

My  God  has  shower"  d  his  brightest  gifts  on  rne  : 
He  has  vouchsafed  to  call  me  to  his  shrine. 

That,  in  the  place  of  love  and  mystery, 
I  may  present  to  him  the  "  gift  divine. '" 

And  spirits  are  my  partners,  and  they  speak 
To  me  a  language  which  is  all  my  bliss  ; 

And  mine  arc  visions  which  in  vain  we  seek. 
Within  the  sphere  of  such  a  world  as  this. 

I  soothe  the  wretched  on  his  bed  of  death  ; 

When  doubts  distract,  or  clouds  of  terror  roll. 
I  cheer  the  moment  of  his  latest  breath, 
And  paint  heav'n's  glories  to  the  parting  soul. 

Nought  intervenes  between  me  and  the  skies, 
To  keep  my  soul  from  mounting  to  her  home ; 

I  leave  earth's  thorns,  its  troubles,  tears  and  sighs, 
In  light  to  live,  with  angel-guides  to  roam. 

To  God,  meantime,  I  make  the  sacrifice. 

And  bless  for  ever  his  eternal  name, 
Singing,  that  while  the  suns  of  mortals  rise, 

May  ev'ry  tongue  his  boundless  love  proclaim. 


THE  GLORY  OF  PARADISE. 

Fain  would  my  spirit  burst  her  bonds  of  clay. 
And  wing  to  glory  her  triumphant  way ; 
Fain  would  she  rise  and  from  this  exile  soar, 
To  taste  the  raptures  of  her  own  loved  shore, 
10* 


114  OCCASIONAL    PIECES. 

The  sweet  sad  mem'ries  of  whose  golden  time, 
Like  bright  suns  beaming  o'er  a  cold  dull  clime, 
Come  back  upon  her  with  redoubled  bloom, 
Deepening  the  darkness  of  her  mortal  doom. 

0  who  will  paint  the  splendor  of  the  skies, 
"Within  whose  city  all  that's  lovely  lies  ? 
Like  purest  glass  the  streets  of  chrystal  seem, 
With  precious  stones  the  fair  foundations  beam  ; 
The  stately  domes  with  brilliant  pearls  are  bright. 
That  flash  afar  in  streams  of  living  light ; 
With  gems  and  gold  the  gates  are  richly  crowned, 
And  radiant  couches  fling  refulgence  'round. 
The  sullen  winter,  with  his  storms  and  gloom. 
Dims  not  the  beauty  of  that  heav'nly  bloom, 
And  the  rich  blossoms  of  those  spirit  bowers, 
Pear  not  a  blight  from  summer's  sultry  hours. 
Far  o'er  the  scene  the  rose  and  lily  blow, 
And  balsam  drops,  and  streams  of  honey  flow ; 
Eternal  fruitage  clothe  the  flowering  trees, 
Ambrosial  odours  scent  the  balmy  breeze  j 
The  field,  the  vale,  with  fadeless  flowers  are  crowned, 
And  joyous  spring  for  ever  warbles  round. 

Nor  sun,  nor  moon,  nor  star  there  hails  the  sight, 
The  Lamb  unspotted  is  that  city's  light ; 
There,  nightlcss.  timeless  is  the  Saints'  array, 
Each  the  bright  sun  of  an  eternal  day ; 
Their  battles  with  the  foe  they  fear  no  more 
Perennial  safety's  retrospect  counts  o'er ; 
Triumphant,  crowned,  exultant  they  employ 
Their  ceaseless  voices  blent  in  jubilation's  joy ; 


OCCASIONAL    PIECES.  115 

Impervious  e'en  to  thought  that  bears  a  stain. 

No  fleshly  combat  can  they  dread  again ; 

Their  entity  is  spiritual,  there's  naught 

To  mar  eternal  unity  of  thought  ; 

Despoiled  of  every  brittle  toy  of  earth, 

They  seek  the  changeless  spirit's  land  of  birth, 

Where  peace  is  boundless,  scandals  ne'er  annoy 

Th'  unclouded  Truth  they  endlessly  enjoy. 

By  them  the  sweetness  of  life's  fount  is  quaff  d, 

Immutability  in  every  draught  ; 

Beautious  and  vivid,  joyous,  ever  free 

From  earthly  peril,  and  contingency ; 

Their  health  immortal,  youth  unwrinkled  last, 

Deathless  they  live,  for  transientness  hath  passed  ; 

Decay  decayed,  they  strengthen,  flourish,  bloom 

Immortally  victorious  o'er  the  tomb  ; 

They  know  th'  Omniscient,  nought  can  be  unknown. 

For  to  each  mirror-soul  each  thought  of  heav'n  is  shown  ! 

And,  tho'  to  each  a  diff'rent  meed  assigned, 
Bound  by  one  tie  of  love,  one  link  of  mind, 
In  those  bright  mansions  of  the  good  and  blest, 
Each  makes  his  own  the  portion  of  the  rest, 
And  thus  to  each  the  joy  of  all  extends, 
And  soul  with  soul  in  love  seraphic  blends. 
Swifter  than  eagle  darting  on  his  prey, 
The  holy  spirits  wing  their  flight  away, 
To  taste  with  angels  that  celestial  bread, 
On  which  alone  the  Saints  of  God  are  fed  ; 
For  ever  full,  yet  ever  seeking  more, 
No  fulness  cloys,  but  prompts  them  to  implore 


L16  OCCASIONAL    PIKi 

That  living  bread,  that  eating  they  may  live, 
And  living  feel  such  joy  as  only  Cod  can  give. 
But  0  those  dulcet  sounds  they  hear  above, 
When  swells  thro'  hcav'n  the  choral  song  of  love. 
And  from  the  harps  of  countless  seraphim 
Bursts  forth  the  matchless  music  of  their  hymn 
Of  praise  to  God,  the  just,  the  good,  the  high. 
Triumphant  Ruler  of  the  earth  and  sky  !  ! 
Enthroned  they  see  the  face  of  God  revealed, 
And  thro'  creation's  bright  and  boundless  field. 
Behold  ten  thousand  orbs  in  various  mazes  wheeled. 

0  Christ,  thou  victor  King  !  'tis  thou  alone 
Can'st  grant  the  title  to  each  starry  throne  ! 
Grant  that,  my  warfare  ended  here  below, 
With  love  of  thee  my  soul  in  bliss  may  glow  ; 
Grant  that  the  glory  of  the  saints  may  be 
My  sure  reward,  my  palm  of  victory, 

That,  when  this  life  the  hand  of  death  shall  sever. 

1  may  mount  up  and  cling  to  thee  for  ever. 


THEY  ARE  GONE— THEY  ARE  GONE 

And  this  is  all  can  be  said  at  the  last. 

Of  the  Future,  the  Present,  the  Past ! 

Short  truth— sad  dirge — insignificant  fate 

For  the  fair  and  the  brave,  for  the  good  and  the  great  ! 

So  the  exiles  of  Eden  as  they  turned  them  back 

To  the  gate  of  the  garden,  in  their  sorrowing  track. 


OCCASIONAL    PIECES.  117 

Said  of  the  pleasures  so  late  they  saw  fly 
While  the  shadows  of  Evil  fell  dark'ning  their  sky. 
They  are  gone — they  are  gone. 

Twas  the  death-lay  of  millions,  when  ocean's  top  wave 
Had  made  for  the  world's  highest  highland  a  grave : 
And  o'er  drowned  Creation  wild,  wailing,  and  dark. 
Xougkt  was  found  but  the  sail  of  the  hoar  Patriarch. 
The  kingdoms  of  earth,  with  their  warriors  and  sages, 
The  pomp,  pride  and  glory  of  years  and  of  ages, 
Earth's  lovers,  misanthropes,  earth's  tyrants,  and  lords 
Are  numbered,  lamented  in  these  passing  words. 
They  are  gone,  They  are  gone. 

I  saw  glowing  faces  and  happy  ones,  too, 
As  guileless  as  virtue,  as  truthfulness  true, 
And  they  were  like  Spring  ere  Spring's  glories  burst  forth, 
Full  of  promise,  and  sunshine,  and  beauty,  and  worth  ; 
And  they  were  so  radiant  with  joy  that  no  sadness 
Could  live  in  the  spot  where  they  laughed  in  their  gladness  ; 
Of  such  love-lighted  eye.  and  such  luminous  brow. 
They  looked  like  the  Angels  of  Raphael — but  now 
They  are  gone,  They  are  gone  ! 

0  thou  with  the  light  step,  and  gay  bearing,  stay. 
And  let  those  sad  accents  come  over  thy  play ; 
Yet  hear  them  not,  glad  One  !  too  dark  is  their  theme  ! 
They  will  break  all  the  spell  of  thy  boyhood's  bright  dream  : 
But  thou  of  the  grey  locks  !  recall  here  awhile, 
The  weird  hopes  that  once  wove  around  thee  their  wile. 
And  say  what  remains  of  their  promise — alas  ! 
That  our  anguish  is  stone,  and  our  blissfulness.  glass — 
They  are  gone,  They  are  gone. 


118  OCCASIONAL    PIE< 

Present  joys  !  present  pains  !  'neath  Futurity's  veil 
I  sec  by  the  shore  a  bard,  pensive  and  pale. 
And.  as  the  swift  blast  bears  his  song  o'er  the  surge, 
He  sings — "  they  are  gone" — for  your  funeral  dirge. 
And  thus,  -when  old  Time,  with  his  changes  is  o'er. 
And  the  darkness  of  chaos  is  frowning  once  more. 
The  spirits  of  Wrath  and  of  Death  will  be  winging 
Thro'  the  midnight  of  Doom's  day,  their  flight,  wildly 
singing 

"  All  are  gone — All  are  gone  !  " 


THE  ARAB  TO  HIS  HORSE. 

FOR   MUSIC. 

While  Hassel's  heart 
Can  dare  a  bandit's  deed, 

We  shall  not  part, 
My  glorious  Arab  steed  ! 

Thou  art,  thou  art 
My  measure,  and  my  meed, 

Thou  soul  of  speed  ! 

Man's  gold  is  bright. 
But  I  can  spurn  its  glare : 

Thou  hast  a  light  g 

More  radiant  and  more  ran-  : 

Mid-day  were  night, 
Wert  thou  not  still  my  share. 

My  whole  sole  care  ! 


OCCASIONAL    PIECES.  119 


Thou  shalt  not  go, 
My  beautiful !  my  own  ! 

In  weal,  in  woe 
Shalt  thou  he  mine  alone ; 

Well  do  I  know 
Thou  art  my  tow"r,  my  throne. 

My  wild  fleet  roan  ! 

O'er  vale  and  hill 
By  mountain,  moor,  and  mead 

We'll  follow  still, 
My  glorious  arab  steed  ! 

Our  way,  our  will, 
From  every  trammel  freed. 

Thou  soul  of  speed ! 


CHATHAM. 

'•  We  love  the  play-place  of  our  early  days.'' — Cottpir. 
I. 

Mixe  eye  at  last  beholds  thee,  my  darling  native  spot ! 
Both  me  and  mine  forgetting,  but  not  by  me  forgot. 
0  little  cherish' d  village  !     I  hail  thee  with  that  joy 
Which  blessed  me  in  thy  borders  when  roved  I  there  a  boy. 
Who  shall  describe  the  feeling  that  o'er  me  cometh  now, 
Filling  with  light,  with  rapture,  my  heart  and  brain  and 

brow? 
None,  none  but  him  who  wanders,  and  wanders  far  away. 
And  lives  in  other  circles  thro'  many  a  fleeting  day. 


120  OCCASIONAL    TIECES. 

My  own,  my  native  Chatham !  twice  twelve  long  years 

have  passed, 
The  blossom  of  my  being — since  I  beheld  thee  last ; 
But  oh  !  thou  art  so  changed  now,  so  all  unlike  the  same, 
That  I  no  more  could  love  thee  if  'twere  not  for  thy  name. 
And  sure  a  name  is  something,  there's  magic  in  the  sound, 
E'en  now  its  very  mention  makes  lost  joys  revel  'round. 
It  beacons  back  the  vanished,  and  brings  about  a  dream 
Where  buried  boyhood  rises  bright  as  the  morning's  beam; 
And  present  cares  and  sorrows  are  driven  from  the  heart, 
And  all  man's  dark  existence  no  longer  holds  a  part ; 
And  childhood's  guileless  gambols,  and  youth's  bright 

dreams  sublime 
Again  are  taken,  tasted,  and  bring  back  vanish'd  time. 

II. 

But  am  I  told,  delighted,  a  sweeter  thing  is  here 
To  bind  me  to  this  hamlet,  the  dearest  of  the  dear  1 
Yes — hard  by  yonder  alley,  the  old  roof  standeth  still, 
Where  first  I  started  forward,  life's  fleet  task  to  fulfil. 
Old  roof !  I  gaze  upon  thee  with  fondness  none  may  know, 
Old  roof!  old  home  !  I  hail  thee  with  joys  words  cannot 
show. 

0  give  me,  then,  my  cabin  !  some  relic  of  thy  wall, 
Which  I  may  keep  and  cherish,  till  thou  and  I  shall  fall ; 

1  go  from  thee  tomorrow,  for  thou'rt  no  more  my  rest, 
But  for  thy  sake  I'll  love  this,  and  wear  it  next  my  breast. 
And  is  there  yet  another — another  link  to  bind 
Existence  to  existence,  and  kindred  mind  to  mind  ? 

Yes — he  is  here  who  named  me  when  o'er  my  brow  was 
pour'd 


OCCASIONAL    PIECE3.  121 

The  bright  baptismal  water  that  gave  me  to  the  Lord. 

But  all  the  rest  are  beings,  unknowing  and  unknown. 

And  in  my  own  lov'd  birth-place  I  stand  alone,  alone. 

And  so,  the  name,  the  roof-tree,  the  sponsor,  and — no 
more 

Are  all,  0  Chatham  !  left  thee  to  greet  me  on  thy  shore. 

Yet,  these  are  sweetest  witch' ries,  my  joy — my  bliss  su- 
preme, 

Making  ideal  real,  and  life  a  lovely  dream. 

Then  hail  to  thee,  my  Chatham  !  my  darling  native  spot ! 

Tho'  thou  hast  me  forgotten,  thou  wilt  not  be  forgot. 


HEALTH. 

Where  lingers  health,  0  tell  me  where  1 
Fain  would  the  weary  go  and  seek  ; 

I  long  to  see  her  form  so  fair, 

And  radiant  eye,  and  roseate  cheek. 

They  bade  me  seek  the  physic-hall, 
Then  thither  did  I  swift  repair, 

And  walked  it  'round  and  search' d  it  all, 
But  health,  alas  !  abode  not  there. 

The  sea,  some  whisper'd,  was  her  throne, 
I  hastened  to  the  salt  waves'  side, 

And  called  on  health  in  plaintive  tone, 
But  solace  rose  not  from  the  tide. 
11 


122  OCCASIONAL    PIECES. 

I  roved  o'er  many  a  spot  of  green, 

"With  hope  that  health  might  there  be  found, 

But  tasteless  proved  each  sunny  scene. 
And  sadness  dwelt  in  all  things  'round. 

I  walked  beneath  a  freezing  sky, 

While  driving  snows  obscured  the  day, 

And  stormy  winds  piped  harsh  and  high, — ■ 
Still  laughing  health  kept  far  away. 

"Neath  sun-bright  skies  I  wandered  then, 
And  quaffed  each  fresh  and  fragrant  breeze, 

But  hope,  my  hope  was  false  again, 

Tho1  health,  methought,  was  wed  to  these. 

I  hied  me  then  to  secret  bowers, 

And  health  in  contemplation  sought. 

But  sadder,  sicker  rolled  the  hours — 
Health  never  was  allied  to  thought. 


o 


And  next  I  woke  the  Poet's  shell, 
For  health  to  hear  and  haste  along, 

The  strain  was  all  too  wreak  a  spell, 
Health  flew  the  farther  for  my  song. 

[lave  I  not  seen,  then,  in  our  sphere, 
The  healthful  and  the  happy,  too  1 

Yes,  e'en  this  moment  they  are  here, 
And  many,  many,  not  a  few. 

Beside  the  shore,  and  on  the  sea, 
Within  the  wildwood,  and  without, 


OCCASIONAL    PIECES.  123 

In  autumn's  grief,  in  summer's  glee, 
They  live,  and  laugh,  and  sing,  and  shout. 

Free,  fetterless,  unburdened  minds. 

They  bloom  now  with  the  blooming  flowers. 

And  play  they  with  the  playful  winds, 
And  laugh  they  with  the  laughing  hours. 

Where,  then,  is  health  !  I'll  tell  thee  where, 

"lis  here — behold  it  and  be  glad. 
In  freedom  from  corroding  care, 

Sire  of  the  sick  and  sore  and  sad  ! 

Away,  then,  Adder  care  !  away — 

Thou  shalt  not  nestle  in  my  breast ; 
Young  health  shall  light  my  little  day, 

And  make  life's  blessings  doubly  blest. 


THE    WITHERED    TREE. 

AX   ALLEGORY. 

MlNl  own  beach  tree,  that  must  no  more  be  mine  ! 

"When  last  I  rested  under  thy  green  bough. 
That  twilight  shade,  which  evermore  was  thine, 
Flung  balmy  freshness  'round  my  fevered  brow, 
A  brow  once  clear  and  calm,  but  dark  and  troubled  now. 

Fresh  was  the  grass  which  bloomed  beneath  thee  then. 

And  soft  the  couch  that  velvet  carpet  made : 
Oh  !  must  I  never,  never  know  again, 


124  OCCASIONAL     PIECES. 

That  bright  green  seat,  that  siveet  embowering  shade  1 
The  bower  is  blasted  now — the  bloom  is  all  decayed. 

When  last,  my  Beechcn  tree  !  I  gamboled  here, 
Full  many  a  glory  crowned  thy  honor"  d  head, 

But  now,  like  visions  of  the  vanished  year, 
All — all  thy  beauties  and  thy  charms  are  fled  ; 
Thy  last  lone  leaf,  e'en  that,  lies  faded,  fall'n  and  dead. 

My  Beechen  tree  !  when  I  beheld  thee  last, 
Bright  was  the  sky  that  fondly  o'er  thee  hung. 

Sweet  was  the  breeze  that  by  thee  whisp'ring  passed, 
And  blithe  the  paean  by  the  red-breast  sung 
Throughout  the  live-long  day  thy  verdant  boughs  among. 

Now  wild  and  gloomy  is  the  wintry  sky, 

That  o'er  thee  frowns,  and  sees  thy  sad  decay  ; 
Now  sullen  is  the  blast  that  hurries  by, 
And  hushed  the  carol  of  the  warbler  gay 
That  sat  amid  thy  leaves,  and  sang  the  sunny  day. 

0  I  must  leave  thee,  0  mine  own  heart's  tree  ! 

Mine  eye  in  sorrow  at  thy  presence  swells ; 
To  the  changed  soul  that  mourns  this  change  in  thee 

How  many  a  joyless  tale  thy  ruin  tells  ! 
— And  such  is  worldly  Hope  with  all  her  wizard  spells  ! 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  HORATII  &   CURIATH. 

When  now  along  the  skies  afar, 
Brayed  the  shrill  trump  of  bristling  war, 


OCCASIONAL    PIECES.  125 

The  youths  on  either  side  that  stood, 

In  warriors9  dread  array, 

With  hearts  that  thirst  alike  for  blood, 

Rush  forward  to  the  fray. 

And  now,  nor  fear  nor  danger  knowing, 

Each  with  the  ardent  feeling  glowing, 

That  home  and  country's  fortune  lay 

Upon  the  triumph  of  that  day — 

With  all  the  strength  which  valour  boasts, 

And  beating  high  with  mutual  rage, 

As  if  there  rushed  a  thousand  hosts, 

The  vengeful  combatants  engage. 

And  when  the  blade  of  fury  flashed, 

And  loud  th'  encount'ring  armour  clashed. 

Deep  horror  forthwith  seized  upon 

Each  cold  surrounding  breast, 

And  as  sweet  hope  yet  smiled  for  none, 

The  voice,  the  breathing  was  supprest. 

As  thus  in  cruel  fight  they  close, 

And  all  is  doubt  and  fear  around, 

While  fast  the  stream  of  slaughter  flows. 

And  ringing  shields  incessant  sound — 

Lo  !  o'er  each  other  to  the  plain 

Headlong  fell  two  Romans  slain, 

Whilst  from  the  Albans  to  the  skies 

Wild,  loud,  and  long  applauses  rise  ! 

All  hope  forsook  the  Romans  now, 

And  terror  sat  on  every  brow ; 

When  thus  the  lonely  hero  found 

The  frantic  foe  enclose  him  'round, 

Aware  he  never  might  withstand 
11* 


126  OCCASIONAL    PIECES. 

The  bravery  of  th'  united  band. 
But  conscious  that,  in  single  fightr 
He  could  their  boldest  charge  defy. 
Wide  o'er  the  field  he  holds  his  flighty 
And  fast  behind  the  conquerors  fly. 
When  now  some  distance  he  had  passed, 
From  that  ensanguined  scene. 
Anon,  an  eagle  glance  he  cast 
Athwart  the  measured  green, 
And  lo  !  long  intervals  of  space 
Between  the  foes  appear, 
And  now  the  foremost  of  the  chase. 
Already  shouted  near. 
The  dauntless  youth,  with  deadly  blow. 
Fell  furious  on  the  frighted  foe, 
And,  while  the  Albans  to  their  chief 
From  every  quarter  shout  "Relief," 
Deep  in  his  breast  the  weapon  lies, 
And  shades  eternal  cloud  his  eyes. 
A  shout  of  triumph  loudly  then 
Along  the  Roman  ranks  resounds, 
While  the  victorious  youth  again 
To  deeds  of  death  impetuous  bounds : 
And  ere  the  third,  now  pressing  nigh. 
The  scene  of  bloody  strife  could  gain. 
The  reeking  blade  is  raised  on  high. 
And  hews  another  to  the  plain. 
The  parties  equalized,  at  length. 
But  not  in  hope,  nor  yet  in  strength, — 
The  one  from  wounds  entirely  free, 
And  flushed  with  two-fold  victorv. 


OCCASIONAL    PIECES.  127 

Again  to  bloody  slaughter  turns, 
And  for  the  final  conquest  burns  : 
The  other,  worn  and  weary  quite, 
Appalled,  too,  by  the  with'ring  sight 
Of  two  fond  brothers  who,  before 
His  eyes,  now  lay  deformed  with  gore, 
Their  sun  of  life  for  ever  set — 
Is  by  the  brave  Iloratian  met ; 
Who  of  two  glorious  triumphs  proud, 
Thus — thus  exulting  cries  aloud  : — 
"Two  have  I  pierced,  and  lo  !  a  third 
The  prowess  of  this  arm  shall  know," — 
He  raised  his  falchion  at  the  word, 
And  laid  the  last  lost  Alban  low. 


THE  LAST  NIGHT  OF  DECEMBER. 

Heard  ye  that  fitful  blast  go  moaning  by? 
How  mournfully  it  swept  the  midnight  sky  ! 
Again,  and  sadder  still  it  strikes  the  ear — 
Ha  !  'tis  the  death-song  of  the  parting  year  ! 
Farewell — farewell. 

Old  year  !  thou'rt  gasping  on  thy  bed  of  snow, 
Cold  couch  for  one  whose  sands  have  run  so  low  ! 
I'll  watch  beside  thee  here  till  thou  hast  pass'd, 
A  little  while,  and  I  shall  see  thy  last. 
Farewell — farewell. 

Once  thou  wcrt  happy  with  thy  golden  hours, 
Thy  songs,  thy  skies,  and  all  thy  world  of  flow 're, 


128  OCCASIONAL    PIECES. 

Thy  joy  is  passed — thy  loveliness  is  flown, 
And  in  thy  loneliness  thou'rt  all  alone. 
Farewell — farewell. 

To  me,  old  year  !  thou  gav'st  full  many  a  day 
That  I  again  would  gladly  while  awray ; 
Thou  brought' st  me  back  the  distant  and  the  dear, 
And  filled  my  heart  with  melody  and  cheer. 
Farewell — farewell. 

I  tasted  pleasure  in  thy  transient  reign, 
Oft  did  I,  too,  participate  of  pain  ; 
O'er  many  a  lov'd  one  of  my  soul  hast  thou 
Flung  the  dark  turf,  and  I  am  lonely  now. 
Farewell — farewell. 

Tho'  from  our  eyes  thou" It  shortly  disappear, 
Still  thou  wilt  never  be  forgotten  here  ; 
I'll  think  of  thee  when  thou  art  lost  and  gone ; 
By  millions,  billions  thou 'It  be  thought  upon. 
Farewell — farewell. 

We  part  to  night,  but  we  will  meet  again, 
A  diff'rent  aspect  wilt  thou  wear  us  then  ; 
Dark  things  of  blood  and  crime  shall  there  be  shown, 
Now  hid  in  gloom  and  to  the  world  unknown. 
Farewell — farewell. 

Ah  !  the  hour  strikes — then  go  and  tell  of  me 
Kind  goodly  tidings  in  Eternity ; 
Thy  last  light  sand  is  falling — thou  art  fled — 
Another  year  is  reigning  in  thy  stead. 
Farewell — farewell. 


FAOV  ■  "EWCK 


HYMNS  OF  THE  CHURCH. 


"  Laudate  Dominum,  quoniam  bonus  est  psalmus  :    Deo  nostro  sii 
jucanda,  decoraque  laudatio." 


MIDNIGHT    HYMN. 

Arise  from  slumber  and  be  vigilant, 

Tune  all  your  voices  into  sweet  accord, 
The  hymn  to  warble,  and  the  psalm  to  chaunt, 
And  magnify  the  Lord. 

That  while  in  concert  thus  our  anthems  swell, 

We  may  deserve  the  mansions  of  the  sky, 
Where  with  the  blest  we  may  forever  dwell 
In  joys  that  cannot  die. 

To  this  our  lowly  orison  give  ear. 

0  mighty  Father,  Holy  Ghost,  and  Son  ! 
To  whom,  throughout  this  universal  sphere, 
Is  endless  honour  done. 


MORNING   HYMN. 

Now  with  the  rosy  orb  of  day 

Arise,  my  soul ! — in  pray*r  arise!  — 

Far  from  us  drive  all  ills  away, 

0  thou  high  Lord  of  earth  and  skies 


130  HYMNS   OF  THE   CHURCH. 

Still  keep  our  tongues  from  words  of  wrath , 
Bid  all  wild  tumults  die  away, 

And  fix  our  eyes  on  virtue's  path, 
Lest  after  vanities  they  stray. 

0  cleanse  from  sin  our  every  sense, 
Of  rage  restrain  the  rising  fires, 

And  teach  our  hearts  true  continence, 
That  we  may  fly  all  vain  desires. 

So  when  the  day  has  fleeted  by, 

And  night's  deep  shadows  close  around. 

Amid  the  calm  of  earth  and  sky. 
Thy  endless  praise  we  may  resound. 

To  God  the  Father,  and  the  Son, 

And  to  the  Holy  Spirit,  be 
All  glory  giv'n.  and  honour  done, 

Now  and  for  all  eternity. 


THE    THIRD    HOUR 

Come,  Holy  Spirit  !  thou  who  art 
One  with  the  Father  and  the  Son, 

Fill  with  thy  light  the  sinner's  heart, 
And  let  it  ever  shine  thereon. 

Let  tongue  and  soul,  let  all  conspire, 
And  sing  due  praise  t )  thee  above  ; 

Warm  us  with  Charity's  blest  fire, 

And  let  our  neighbour  share  our  love. 


HYMNS    OF  THE    CHURCH.  131 


To  this  our  humble  song  attend, 
0  Father,  Holy  Ghost,  and  Son. 

Without  beginning,  without  end, 
Eternal,  and  for  ever  One  ! 


THE  SIXTH  HOUR. 

0  true  and  glorious  God  of  might, 

That  hold'st  o'er  all  thy  boundless  sway. 

That  deck'st.  in  beauty  and  in  light, 
The  blushing  dawn  and  dazzling  day  ! 

Far  from  our  souls  all  anger  chase, 
Bid  every  guilty  passion  cease  ; 

Inspire  us  with  thy  hcav*nly  grace. 
That  we  may  taste  the  sweets  of  peace. 

To  this  our  humble  song  attend, 
0  Father,  Holy  Ghost,  and  Son, 

Without  beginning,  without  end, 
Eternal,  and  for  ever  one  ! 


THE  XIXTH  HOUR. 

Almighty  and  all-ruling  Pow'r  ! 

That  stands' t  still  changeless  in  thy  might, 
That  didst  create  each  flying  hour, 

And  trace  the  bounds  of  day  and  night. 


132  HYMNS    OF    THE    CHURCH. 

Give  us  a  light, — this  evening  give, 

From  which  our  footsteps  will  not  stray. 

That  vfe  may  all  hereafter  live 
In  bliss  that  never  fades  away. 

To  this  our  humble  song  attend, 
0  Father,  Holy  Ghost,  and  Son, 

Without  beginning,  without  end, 
Eternal,  and  for  ever  one. 


COMMON  OF  APOSTLES. 

Rejoice,  thou  spacious  world  !  rejoice  ! 

Ring,  0  ye  skies  !  with  praises  ring ; 
The  earth  and  stars  exalt  their  voice. 

And  loud  th'  Apostles'  glory  sing. 
Ye  sapient  Judges  of  all  days  ! 

0  light  and  splendour  of  the  land  ! 
The  heart's  devoted  prayer  we  raise — 

0  listen  to  your  suppliant  band. 

0  ye  who  shut  the  gates  of  heav'n, 

Which  at  your  word  are  oped  again  ! 
We  beg  our  sins  may  be  forgiv'n — 

With  favour  crown  the  fervid  strain- 
Ye  who  bid  foul  disease  depart, 

And  make  fair  rosy  health  return  ! 
From  sin  recall  the  wand'ring  heart, 

And  let  it  with  fresh  ardour  burn. 


HYMNS   OF  THE   CHURCH. 

So  when  that  awful  hour  shall  come. 

And  Christ  our  arbiter  descends. 
We  may  enjoy  his  heav'nly  home 

Whose  reign  of  rapture  never  ends. 
To  God  the  Father  and  the  Son, 

And  to  the  Holy  Spirit,  be 
All  glory  giv'n,  and  honour  done. 

Xow  and  for  all  eternity. 


COMMON  OF  A  MARTYR. 

0  thou  who  of  thy  soldiers  art 
The  lot,  the  glory  and  the  crown  ! 

0  wash  the  sin  from  every  heart 

That  sings  thy  martyr's  high  renown. 

The  pleasures  of  the  world  were  vain. 

And  vain  was  flatt'ry's  fair  disguise. 
All  these  he  marked  with  deep  disdain. 

And  sought  the  glory  of  the  skies. 

He  met  the  torture  joyfully, 

And  bore  with  fortitude  the  strife. 

His  blood,  0  God  !  he  shed  for  thee. 
And  now  enjoys  eternal  life. 

Do  thou,  then,  Holy  one  !  attend. 

While  thus  we  raise  our  pious  strain. 

On  this  thy  martyr's  glorious  end, 

0  cleanse  our  souls  from  everv  stain. 
12  ' 


134  HYMNS   OF  THE   CHURCH. 

To  God  the  Father  and  the  Son, 
And  to  the  Holy  Spirit,  be 

All  glory  giv'n,  and  honour  done. 
Now,  and  for  all  eternity. 


COMMON  OF  MARTYRS. 

Come,  Brothers  !  resound  now  the  joys  of  the  blest. 

Record  the  high  warfare  they  dared  to  maintain, 
0  worthiest  of  victors  !  how  gladdens  my  breast 
To  strike  to  your  praises  the  strain  ! 

And  these  did  the  world  in  its  sinfulness  spurn. 

But  0  blessed  Jesus  !  heaven's  bountiful  King, 
For  thee  they  despised  that  vile  world  in  return. 
The  fruitless  and  flowerless  thing  ! 

For  thee  did  they  baffle  the  menace,  the  pain — 

For  thee  did  they  suffer  the  scorn  of  mankind — 
The  pangs  of  the  torture  were  potent  in  vain — 
What  weapon  can  conquer  the  mind  ? 

'  Neath  the  sword  of  the  slaj^er  like  lambkins  they  fall 

No  murmur  they  utter,  no  sorrow  they  send  ; 
But,  fearlessly  daring  and  vanquishing  all, 
With  patience  endure  to  the  end. 

What  language,  Dear  Lord !  can  portray  for  us  now. 

The  bliss  which  thou  hast  for  thy  servants  in  store  1 
The  laurel  shall  bloom  o'er  each  bright,  bleeding  brow. 
And  there  blossom  on  evermore. 


HYMNS   OF    THE    CHURCH.  135 

0  Godhead,  all  mighty,  all  glorious,  alone  ! 

Forgive  us  our  sins,  drive  temptation  away  ; 
Let  the  joys  of  the  saints  to  thy  servants  be  known. 
And  thine  be  all  glory  for  aye. 


COMMON  OF  A  CONFESSOR. 

This  holy  confessor  whose  virtues  bright 

Are  now  the  theme  of  every  christian  strain. 
Deserved  tins  day  to  soar  to  endless  light, 
With  triumph  in  his  train, 

Pious,  and  prudent,  humble,  undefiled, 

Renowned  for  all  that  could  adorn  him  here. 
Bold  as  a  martyr — gentle  as  a  child, 

He  ran  his  bright  career. 

Whene:er  he  bent  him  o?er  the  sickly  bed, 

Where  lay  the  victim  writhing  in  his  pain, 
All  anguish  ceased,  all  tribulation  fled, 
And  all  wa3  health  again. 

And  now  for  tins,  behold  !  in  dulcet  airs, 

His  praise  we  warble,  and  his  triumphs  sing, 
That  he  may  recommend  us  in  his  prayers, 
To  heav'ns  eternal  king. 

Praise,  honor,  glory,  to  the  Mighty  be, 

"Who  sits  in  light  on  yon  resplendent  throne, 
And  holds  o'er  all  unbounded  sovereignty, 

The  glorious  Three  and  One  ! 


136  HYMNS   OF    THE    CHURCH. 

COMMON  OF  VIRGINS. 

0  thou,  the  crown  of  vestals  ! 

Son  of  the  Pure  and  Fair, 
True  virgin  and  true  mother — 

Hear,  Jesus,  hear  our  prayer. 

Thou  art  the  spouse  of  virgins, 
With  these  alone  thou'rt  found, 

O'er  lilies  go'st  thou  ever, 
With  fadeless  glory  crowned ! 

Glad  virgins  sing  rejoicing 

For  ever  in  thy  train, 
And  wheresoe'er  thou  tendest 

Still  swells  their  choral  strain. 

0  hear  our  humble  voices  ! 

Reign,  Lord  !  o'er  every  sense, 
And  teach  our  hearts  true  sorrow, 

For  every  past  offence. 

Praise,  honour,  power,  and  glory. 

To  God  the  Father  be, 
And  Son,  and  Holy  Spirit, 

Through  all  eternity. 


ODES    OF    HORACE 


'Horace — whom  I  hated  so, 


Not  for  thy  faults,  but  mine."— Childe  Harold. 


TO    MAECENAS 


Maecenas  !  sprung  from  royal  line, 
Thou  dearest,  fondest  friend  of  mine  ! 
Some  men  there  are  whose  bounding  soul 
Delights  to  join  th'  Olympic  games. 
To  clear  with  glowing  wheels  the  gaol. 
And  raise  to  heav'n  their  honored  names. 
This  man  is  rilled  with  joy  to  find 
The  Roman  commonwealth  inclined. 
With  public  honours  to  invest  him  ; 
Another  ever  strives  to  store 
With  Lybian  corn  his  gran'ry  floor, 
And  cares  no  farther  e'er  molest  him. 

II. 

But  this  one  loves,  and  always  will. 

His  patrimonial  fields  to  till : 

For  he,  for  all  the  gold  of  earth, 

Would  never  leave  his  native  plain. 
12* 


138  ODES   OF  HORACE. 

To  take  the  weary  sailor's  berth, 
And  try  the  dangers  of  the  main. 
The  merchant,  fearing  that  the  gale 
Would  o'er  th'  Icarian  -waves  prevail, 
Commends  his  peaceful  rural  dwelling ; 
But  danger  o'er,  with  oars  and  men. 
He  fits  the  shattered  bark  again. 
A  busy  thirst  for  gain  impelling. 

in. 

Another  loves  to  while  away 
O'er  flowing  bowls,  the  genial  day. 
And  more,  beneath  the  mantling  vine 
In  balmy  slumbers  joy  to  dream, 
Whilst  others  ever  would  recline 
Beside  the  source  of  some  bright  stream. 
For  noise  of  clarion's  brazen  throat. 
And  martial  trumpet's  pealing  note 
Away  in  air  confus'dly  sounding, 
For  camps  and  war's  terrific  clangs. 
To  mother's  heart  so  fraught  with  pangs, 
A  thousand  other  hearts  are  bounding. 

IV. 

Unmindful  of  his  partner  fair. 
The  hunter  takes  the  chilly  air. 
If  by  his  faithful  hounds  a  hare 
Along  the  plain  is  held  in  view. 
Or  if,  percha/Lce,  the  circling  snare 
A  Marcian  bore  has  broken  thro' . 
But  while  around  this  wavy  hair 


ODES   OF   HORACE.  139 


The  bard's  unfading  wreath  I  wear. 
I  ask  not  earth's  unhallowed  treasures. 
But.  light  of  heart,  will  ever  love 
The  green  attractions  of  the  grove. 
And  tune  my  lyre  to  dulcet  measures : 
While  Polyminia  fills  her  flute 
In  cadence  with  Euterpe's  lute. 
Then,  if  among  the  sons  of  song 
Thou  rank  thy  poet's  name. 
His  deathless  praise  will  gain,  ere  long, 
The  noblest  heights  of  fame  ! 


TO    SEXTUS. 

Now  genial  skies  and  breezes  soft. 

Proclaim  rude  winter  o'er. 
And  ships,  on  levers  borne  aloft. 

Arc  mowing  from  the  shore. 
The  hearth  no  more  delights  the  swain. 

Nor  stall  the  well-fed  steer. 
Xo  more  along  the  level  plain 

Do  silver  frosts  appear. 

Xow  Venus  leads  her  joyous  band. 

'Xeath  Luna's  cloudless  sheen, 
And  Xymphs  and  Graces,  hand  in  hand, 

Alternate  trip  the  green. 
Xow  Vulcan,  too,  with  flaming  light, 

Far  darting  from  his  eyes, 
Within  the  Cyclop' s  forges  bright 

The  pond'rous  hammer  plies. 


140  ODES    OF    HORACE. 

Then  let  us  with  the  myrtle  bough, 

Or  such  wild  blossoms  fair, 
As  blow  amid  the  valleys  now, 

Weave  garlands  for  our  hair. 
And  thus  with  fitting  wreaths  arrayed, 

Go  seek  the  peaceful  groves, 
And  slay  to  Faunus,  in  the  shade, 

The  victim  that  he  loves. 

The  dread  inevitable  blow 

Grim  death  doth  ever  strike 
At  stately  dome  and  cottage  low, 

Impartially  alike. 
0  happy  Sextus  !  lo !  the  term 

Of  life's  contracted  span 
Affords  a  basis  too  unfirm 

For  any  noble  plan. 

Death's  everlasting  shades  ere  long 

Will  o'er  our  pathway  come, 
And  we  must  join  the  shadowy  throng 

In  Pluto's  dreary  home. 
Where,  when  thou  rov'st  'twill  ne'er  be  thine 

The  doubtful  die  to  throw, 
Nor  care  how  may  the  rosy  wine, 

Around  the  banquet  flow. 


TO    HIS    SLAVE. 

I  loathe,  0  Boy  !  the  pomp  the  kings  of  Persia  love, 
And  all  gay  wreaths  that  arc  with  soft  Phylcra  wove 


ODES    OF    HORACE.  141 

Then  still  remember  thou  no  precious  hours  bestow, 
In  looking  for  the  vale  where  early  roses  blow  : 
And  'tis  the  wannest  wish  that  centres  in  my  heart. 
ste  on  the  myrtle  green,  no  useless  touch  of  art. 
For  ill  doth  myrtle  suit  a  menial  such  as  thou. 
Or  one  that  quaffs  like  me  beneath  this  olive  bough. 


TO    LEUCOXIE. 

Seek  not  to  know,  Leuconie  !  how  long 
Thy  days  may  be.  for  that  is  very  wrong. 
Nor  try  by  charms  thy  future  fates  to  see. 
But  happy  rest,  whate'er  the  lot  may 
TVhether  kind  heav'n  another  winter  send. 
Or  whether  thou  shalt  with  the  present  end. 
Whose  tempests  now  in  howling  phrenzy  rave. 
0?er  the  dark  waters  of  th'  Etrurian  wave. 
Be  wise;  nor  hope  beyond  life's  little  span  ; 
Send  'round  the  bowl,  be  happy  while  you  can  ; 
Thus  while  we  speak,  fast  speed  the  hours  away. 
Enjoy  the  present,  mind  no  future  day. 


TO    THE    MUSE. 

Hence,  melancholy !  hence ;  and  bear  thou,  passing  breeze ! 
All  fear  and  sadness  far  beyond  the  Cretan  seas, 
For  I  would  ever  live  contented,  free  and  gay. 
And  with  the  muse's  charms  beguile  the  tedious  day ; 
Away — I  would  not  know  what  nations  are  unblessed. 
Nor  dread  the  fears  that  fright  the  thoughtful  monarch's 
breast. 


142  ODES    OF    HORACE. 

But  come,  sweet  singer,  thou,  whom  limpid  springs  delight, 
And  weave  together  now  the  fragrance  flowers,  the  bright! 
Come,  for  my  Lamia  fair  a  wreath  of  beauty  twine, 
For  oh  !  without  thy  aid  in  vain  I  offer  mine. 
Now,  gentle  muse  !  behold,  my  lovely  Lamia's  praise 
Invites  thy  heav"nly  voice  the  sluunVring  strain  to  raise ; 
And  to  thy  sisters  all,  the  pleasing  cares  belong 
To  sweep  the  Lesbian  lyre,  and  join  the  joyous  song. 


TO    THALIARCHUS. 

Behold  old  Soracte,  his  brow  is  o'erspread 

With  the  chill  veil  of  winter,  the  fleecy  white  snow ; 

The  woodland  is  bowing  its  wearisome  head, 

And  the  ice-fettered  rivers  have  long  ceased  to  flow. 

Crown  thy  hearth,  Thaliarchus  !  with  brilliant  fires  high, 
Till  the  chill  airs  of  night  shall  have  fled  from  thy  dome, 

Then  the  sabine  vase  fill  with  a  richer  supply, 

And  around  the  glad  board  let  the  racy  wines  foam. 

Leave  the  rest  to  the  Gods,  at  whose  will  the  loudjjlast 
As  it  howls  in  its  wrath  o'er  the  ocean's  rough  breast, 

Is  hushed :  while  the  ash  and  the  cypress  that  cast 
Their  boughs  to  the  skies,  find  a  season  for  rest. 

( )  care  not  to  know,  my  old  Friend  !  what  the  morn 
Of  tomorrow  may  bring,  but  still  deem  thyself  blest, 

For  each  day  fate  bestows,  nor  look  on,  as  in  scorn, 
The  gay  festive  dance,  nor  the  ones  we  love  best. 


ODES    OF    HORACE.  143 

"While  thy  youth,  strength,  and  beauty,   are  all  in  their 
bloom. 
On  the  wide  open  field,  or  within  the  dark  lane 
While  the  slow  shades  of  Ev'ning  are   spreading  their 
gloom, 
Breathe  the  lover's  soft  whisper  again  and  again. 

And  still  hear  the  laugh  that  betrays  the  wild  fair. 

As  away  from  her  lover  she  wantonly  flies. 
And  the  love-token  seize,  which,  with  lov'liest  air. 

Her  willing  heart  yields,  tho'  her  sweet  voice  denies. 


ODE. 

FORETELLING    HIS    IMMORTALITY. 

I've  reared  a  monument  more  strong  than  brass. 

Than  e'en  the  regal  pyramid  more  high, 
Which  no  destructive  show'r  shall  ever  rase. 

Nor  tempests  bursting  from  the  northern  sky. 
Nor  trains  of  countless  years,  nor  ages  rolling  by. 

I  will  not,  cannot  altogether  fall ; 

My  better  part  shall  fly  the  gen'ral  doom, 
And,  whilst  the  priest  ascends  the  capitol 
With  vestal  maid,  I  still  in  fadeless  bloom. 
Will  flourish  in  the  song  of  eras  yet  to  come. 

I  -<vho  have  sprung  from  Rome's  ignoblest  sons. 
First  of  her  bards  who  sang  Eolian  strains, 


144  ODES    OF   HORACE. 

Will  be  renowned  where  rough  AunYlus  runs. 
And  celebrated  where  king  Daunus  reigns 
O'er  an  unlettered  race,  and  parched  unfertile  plains. 

Melpomine  !  assume  thy  honours  now, 

Which,  for  thy  merits,  thou  so  well  hast  found. 

And,  by  thine  own  assent,  adorn  my  brow 
With  the  fair  Delphic  laurel-leaf  around. 
And  with  a  poet's  honours  let  thy  son  be  crowned. 


PASTORALS  OF  VIRGIL. 


There  was  no  sound  that  wander d  thro'  the  sky, 

But  told  him  secrets  in  its  melody.  ChcMAWS. 


MELIBAEUS    AND   TITYRUS 

MELIBAEUS. 

Thou  Tityrus  !  within  thy  beechen  bow'r, 
To  silvan  song  dost  give  the  genial  hour  ; 
We  leave  the  charms  our  native  fields  display, 
And  wander  exiles  from  our  homes  away  : 
In  peace  dost  thou  the  lay  of  love  prolong. 
And  hill  and  grove  re-echo  to  thy  song. 

TITYRUS. 

These  gracious  favours  from  a  Godhead  came. 

For  ever  honoured  be  his  holy  name  ; 

Oft  shall  my  fold  a  tender  lamb  resign, 

That,  with  its  blood,  shall  stain  his  sacred  shrine  ; 

He  gives  my  flocks  to  wander  o'er  the  plain, 

While  thro'  my  pipe  I  pour  my  rural  strain. 

MELIBAEUS. 

Thrice  happy  man !  thy  peace  I  envy  not. 

Yet  must  I  wonder  how  is  such  thy  lot, 

Whilst,  far  and  wide,  along  our  wasted  plains, 

Wild  tumult  raves,  and  bloody  ruin  reigns. 
13 


146  PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL. 

Lo  !  sick  at  heart,  to  distant  scenes  away 
I  now,  alas  !  my  snowy  flocks  convey, 
And  this,  too  weak  to  mingle  in  the  throng, 
Behold,  with  pain  I  scarce  can  drag  along. 
She  yeaned  but  now  upon  the  flinty  rock, 
And  left  her  young,  the  promise  of  my  flock. 
Ah  !  had  my  vision  not  so  clouded  been, 
This  dire  mishap  I  might  have  well  foreseen, 
When  from  the  left  I  heard  the  raven's  croak, 
And  saw  the  lightning  blast  the  hollow  oak. 
But  who  is  He  who  haply  now  bestows 
The  sweet  delights  of  this  serene  repose'? 
*  *  *  * 

TITYRUS. 

I  once  imagined  Rome's  majestic  tow'rs 
Were  like  these  lowly  citadels  of  ours, 
To  which  we  shepherds  lead  the  tender  lamb  ; 
Thus  did  I  class  the  offspring  with  the  dam, 
And  thus  the  great  I  measured  by  the  less, 
So  little  knowledge  did  I  then  possess  ; 
But  as  o'er  brambles  stately  cedars  bloom, 
Thus  o'er  all  cities  shines  imperial  Rome. 

MELIBAEUS. 

But  Tityrus  !  what  was  it  wilt  thou  say, 
That  urged  to  Rome's  majestic  walls  thy  way  l 

TITYRUS. 

Freedom,  which  ne'er  till  that  late  day  appeared. 
When  down  my  bosom  swept  a  length  of  beard, 
When  Galatea  wandered  from  these  arms. 
And  I  admired  my  Amaryllis'  charms. 


PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL.  147 

Vain  as  it  is.  yet  shall  it  be  declared, 
While  Galatea's  sunny  smile  I  shared, 
I  did  all  care  of  human  things  resign, 
And  never  dreamed  that  Freedom  could  be  mine. 
And  tho'  for  Rome  full  many  a  cheese  I  made, 
And  to  her  markets  countless  lambs  conveyed, 
I  never  once  brought  home  a  greater  gain, 
Than  that  with  "which  I  left  my  native  plain. 

MELIBAEUS. 
Alas  !  we  wonder' d  why,  with  ceaseless  cries. 
Thy  weeping  mistress  so  invoked  the  skies, 
Why  hung  so  long  thy  apples  on  the  tree ; 
Ah  !  thou  wert  absent,  now  the  cause  we  see : 
The  pines,  the  groves,  the  limpid  fountains,  all 
On  thy  dear  name  for  ever  seemed  to  call  ! 

TITYRUS. 

What  could  I  do  ?  whilst  I  would  here  remain. 
I  could  not  hope  this  liberty  to  gain, 
Nor  could  I  think  in  any  place  but  there, 
To  find  a  God  who  would  regard  my  pray'r. 
There,  Melibaeus  !  to  that  youth  I  spoke, 
In  whose  loved  name  our  altars  yearly  smoke, 
And — "  Shepherd,"  thus  his  friendly  voice  rejoined, 
"  Thy  cattle  yoke,  thy  flocks  as  usual  mind." 

MELIBAEUS. 

Thrice  happy  man  !  thou  never  needs' t  complain  : 
For  thee  thy  fields,  thy  fruitful  fields  remain, 
And  tho'  wild  marsh  and  rugged  stone  be  found 
In  every  portion  of  the  hamlet  round, 


148  PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL. 

Thy  teeming  ewes  no  baneful  food  shall  find, 
Nor  fear  contagion  from  their  neighb'ring  kind, 
While,  by  the  streams  and  sacred  fountains  laid, 
Thou  wilt  enjoy  the  cool  embow'ring  shade. 
Here,  as  they  sport  throughout  the  summer  hours, 
In  easy  murmurs  o'er  the  honied  flowers, 
That  crown  the  hedge  which  on  thy  border  grows, 
The  Hyblean  bees  shall  lull  thee  to  repose ; 
There,  wilt  thou  hear  the  pruner's  lightsome  song, 
From  the  far  steep  on  soft  winds  borne  along, 
While  from  the  elm  thine  own  delightful  dove. 
In  ceaseless  note  shall  lure  her  turtle's  love. 

TITYRUS. 

The  nimble  stag  will  wander  thro'  the  sky, 
Ear  from  the  fish  the  foaming  billow  fly, 
The  Turk  and  German  both  forsake  their  home. 
And  this  to  Asia,  that  to  Europe  roam, 
Ere  Tityrus  will  act  th'  ungrateful  part, 
And  lose  remembrance  of  that  kindly  heart, 

MELIBAEUS. 

But  we  are  doomed  to  leave  our  own  loved  lands. 
And  find  a  home  in  Lybia's  sultry  sands. 
Or  Scythia  seek,  or  to  Brittania  stray 
A  nation  sundered  from  the  world  away. 
Oh  !  shall  I  ever  hail  my  country  more, 
And  find  my  cot  with  hoary  moss  grown  o'er  1 
Shall  hands,  alas  !  but  destined  to  destroy, 
Possess  these  fruits— these  lovely  fields  enjoy  ? 
To  what  dread  woes  does  civil  discord  lead  ! 


PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL.  149 

Ah  !  see  for  whom  we  dressed  the  smiling  mead  ! 

Rise  Melibaeus  !  let  it  now  be  thine 

To  graft  the  pear,  and  trim  the  thick' ning  vine ; 

Away,  ye  goats  ! — ye  hapless  goats  !  away, 

That  blessed  my  life  upon  a  fairer  day ; 

No  more  reclining  in  the  grot  I  love, 

Shall  I  behold  you  on  the  steep  above ; 

I  sing  no  more,  nor  ah !  must  ye  again, 

Beneath  my  guidance  crop  the  flowery  plain. 

TITYRUS. 

This  night,  at  least,  within  my  peaceful  cot, 
Forget  the  sorrows  of  thy  present  lot : 
Curds,  cream,  and  fruit  before  thee  shall  be  spread. 
And  verdant  leaves  shall  form  thine  easy  bed, 
For  ev'ning  shades  now  darken  all  the  skies, 
And  from  the  village  clouds  of  smoke  arise. 


ALEXIS 


Young  Cory  don,  the  simple  shepherd  swain, 

Loved  fair  Alexis,  but  he  loved  in  vain. 

Yet  would  he  oft  with  weary  footsteps  rove 

Beneath  the  freshness  of  the  beechen  grove, 

And  there  all  day,  despondent  and  alone, 

To  hill  and  grove  thus  pour  his  fruitless  moan  : — 

Ah !  cruel  one  !  are  tears  of  no  avail, 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  ever  thus  to  wail  1 

In  vain  I  sing,  and  all  in  vain  I  sigh, 

Thou' It  break  my  heart,  and  force  me  yet  to  die. 

Of  cooling  shade  the  flocks  around  partake, 
13* 


150  PASTORALS    OF    VIRGIL. 

The  lizard's  length  is  laid  beneath  the  brake. 
The  reaper,  too,  with  pale  and  throbbing  brow, 
Forsakes  his  toil,  and  finds  refreshment  now  ; 
But  I,  alas  !  while  from  the  wilds  around 
The  shrill  cicada's  hateful  notes  resound, 
With  weary  chase  pursue  thy  flying  feet, 
Beneath  the  ardour  of  the  noontide  heat. 
Ah  !  would  it  not  be  easier  to  sustain 
Proud  Amaryllis  with  her  deep  disdain, 
And  better,  too,  Menalca's  frowns  to  bear, 
Tho'  he  was  dark  and  thou'rt  divinely  fair? 
But,  0  my  Love  !  all  beauteous  as  thou  art, 
Trust  not  those  charms  whose  glories  must  depart. 
Oft  in  the  vale  we  leave  the  brightest  flower. 
And  bring  the  darkest  to  bedeck  our  bower  ! 
I  am  thy  scorn,  nor  dost  thou  know,  the  while, 
How  rich  is  he  who  courts  thy  rosy  smile  ; 
Full  many  a  cheese  my  dairy  ever  fills, 
My  lambs  in  thousands  rove  Sicilia's  hills ; 
In  summer's  soft,  or  winter's  surly  gales, 
New  milk  is  never  wanting  in  my  pails  ; 
I  sing  as  sweet  as  Amphion  sang  of  old, 
When  with  his  lay  he  charmed  the  list'ning  fold  : 
And,  if  these  features  were  reflected  true. 
Which  in  the  wave  I  lately  chanced  to  view, 
I  [ard  as  thou  art,  thou  could'st  not  else  declare, 
But  e'en  with  Daphnis  I  might  well  compare. 
Deign,  then,  at  last,  to  pass  thy  golden  hours 
Amid  the  joys  that  bless  our  rural  bowers, 
To  drive  the  kids  to  graze  the  flowery  ground, 
And  pierce  the  stags  as  o'er  the  rocks  they  bound. 


PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL.  151 

Beneath  the  shade  with  thine  enamoured  swain, 
Come  sing  with  Pan  and  emulate  his  strain. 
Pan  taught  us  first  to  shape  the  silvan  fife. 
He  guards  the  flocks,  he  loves  a  shepherd's  1 
Thou  shoulds't  not  blush,  the  rural  pipe  to  fill. 
How  sighed  Aniyntas  to  acquire  that  skill ! 
Of  sev?n-fold  row  a  dulcet  pipe  I  have 
The  precious  gift  mj  dear  Daeinetas  gave  : 
,;  Take  this,  he  said,  my  latest  present  take  :" 
11  Its  future  numbers  thou  alone  shah  wake  ;" 
As  thus  he  spoke,  and  then  the  gift  resigned, 
With  fruitless  envy  how  Amyntas  pined  ! 
Xor  is  this  all : — as  late  I  roved  around, 
Two  milk-white  kids  within  a  vale  I  found  ; 
Each  day  they  drain  the  udders  of  a  sheep. 
And  all  for  thee  the  lovely  pair  I  keep. 
Full  oft  in  words  with  every  promise  fraught 
These  little  beauties  Thestylis  hath  sought ; 
And  he  at  last  his  heart's  request  shall  gain, 
Since  all  my  gifts  are  proffered  thee  in  vain. 
0  come,  my  Joy  !     0  hither  come  and  see 
What  golden  gifts  the  Nymphs  prepare  for  thee  : 
For  thee,  behold !  the  white-armed  Xaiad  crops 
The  modest  vi'let,  and  the  poppy-tc»1 
For  thee  the  Anise  sheds  its  rich  perfumes. 
Bright  as  thyself  the  fair  Narcissus  blooms. 
And  Hyacinths,  and  flowers  of  saffron  kind. 
With  the  wild  Dill,  and  other  sweets  entwined, 
All  fair  to  sight,  in  beauteous  order  breathe, 
To  crown  the  whole,  and  form  thy  rosy  wreath, 
Soft  downy  peaches  I'll  myself  prepare, 
With  chestnuts  brown,  the  fav'rites  of  my  fair. 


152  PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL. 

To  these  I'll  add  the  prune  of  waxen  hue, 
The  mellow  apple  shall  be  gathered  too ; 
And  you,  0  Laurels !  I  will  also  cull, 
The  fragrant  myrtle  shall  adorn  the  whole ; 
For  thus  arranged,  and  thus  divinely  spread, 
Ye  mingle  sweets,  and  grateful  odours  shed. 
Yet,  Corydon  !  thou  art  a  simple  hind, 
Thy  homely  gifts  Alexis  will  not  mind, 
Nor  will  thy  rival,  rich  Iollas,  yield, 
Tho'  thou  shoulds't  offer  all  that  crowns  the  field. 
Away,  away,  ye  vain  delusive  dreams  ! 
I  let  wild  boars  pollute  my  crystal  streams, 
On  deeds  of  nought  I  spend  my  precious  hours, 
And  let  the  South  wind  loose  among  my  flowers. 
Yet,  my  Beloved  !  of  whom  art  thou  afraid  ? 
The  Gods  themselves  have  dwelt  within  the  shade. 
To  Pallas  still  resign  the  stately  dome. 
But  let  the  forest  ever  be  our  home. 
The  lioness  pursues  the  wolf  all  day. 
The  wolf  the  kid,  the  wanton  kid  the  spray, 
And  Corydon,  whom  visions  still  deceive, 
Pursues  Alexis,  morning,  noon  and  eve  ; 
To  something  still  thus  all  are  made  a  prey, 
And  each  one's  passion  carries  each  away. 
The  steer,  at  length,  his  weary  labor  ends, 
And  darkness  gathers  as  the  sun  descends  ; 
Still  burns  my  soul  with  all  its  wild  desire, 
Ah  !  what  will  temper  love's  resistless  fire  ? 
What  madness,  Corydon  !  consumes  thy  breast  7 
Thy  thickning  vines  stand  all  the  while  undressed, 
Return  to  these,  and  make  them  still  thy  care, 
Tho'  this  disdains,  thou' It  find  a  love  as  fair. 


PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL.  153 

MAENALCAS,  DAMAETAS,  PALAEMON. 

MAENALCAS. 

Whose  flocks  are  these  ?   belong  they  to  my  friend  ? 

DAMAETAS. 

Aegon,  -who  owns  them,  gave  them  me  to  tend. 

MAENALCAS. 

Unhappy  sheep,  for  ever  more  unblessed  ! 
"While  love  consumes  the  wretched  master's  breast, 
Who  vainly  strives  Naera'a  heart  to  gain, 
And  fears  that  I  will  make  his  longings  vain. 
Twice  in  the  day  this  hireling  milks  these  dam3, 
And  robs  the  flock  and  starves  the  tender  lambs. 

DAMAETAS. 
Such  taunts  as  those  more  cautious  you  should  throw, 
We  know  who  caught  you,  and  the  place  we  know, 
When  looked  the  goats  to  their  amazement  wild ; 
But  you  are  safe  because  the  kind  Nymphs  smiled  ! 

MAENALCAS. 

Yes  then,  I  ween,  when,  filled  with  worst  designs, 
I  cut  young  Ny con's  tender  groves  and  vines  ! 

DAMAETAS. 

Or,  rather  then,  when  near  yon  beach  below, 
You  break  the  darts  of  Daphnis  and  his  bow; 
Which  when  you  found  the  stripling  had  received, 
Your  envious  heart  with  indignation  heaved, 
And  could  you  harm  him  nor  by  fraud,  nor  might. 
You  would,  you  wretch  !  you  would  have  died  for  spite. 


154  PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL. 

MAENALCAS. 

If  such  vile  conduct  marks  the  sordid  slavc; 
Gods  !  in  what  manner  would  his  lord  behave  1 
Did  I  not  see  you,  Thief !  when  th? other  day, 
You  thought  to  start  with  Damon's  goat  away  ? 
And  when  I  called  to  Tityrus  and  said 
"Count,  count  your  cattle,  whither  has  he  fled" — 
Robb'd  of  your  prize,  you  scampered  o'er  the  field, 
And  in  the  brake  your  guilty  head  concealed. 

DAMAETAS. 

Was  it  not  proper  when  our  strife  was  done, 
To  take  the  kid  my  pipe  had  fairly  won  1 
If  you  know  not,  then  let  it  now  be  known, 
The  prize  you  speak  of  was  in  truth  my  own, 
And,  tho'  the  kid  he  would  not  then  resign, 
With  his  own  lips  himself  confessed ''twas  mine. 

MAENALCAS. 

What  1  you  to  win  !  a  likely  thing  indeed  ! 
Why — were  you  ever  master  of  a  reed  ? 
Dunce  !  used  you  not  among  the  rabble  throng, 
Upon  a  straw  drawl  out  your  hateful  song. 

DAMAETAS. 

Well,  doubt  away,  but  come  now,  if  you  will, 
Let  each  in  turn  display  his  tuneful  skill ; 
Come  on,  and  lest  you  should  refuse  me  now, 
Here  to  the  stake  I  bring  my  brindled  cow  ; 
Two  calves  she  suckles,  twice  is  milked  each  day, 
Then  name  the  wager  you're  prepared  to  lay. 


PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL.  155 

MAEXALCAS. 

I  dare  not  offer  any  from  the  flock, 

Because  niy  parents  always  know  their  stock. 

And  o'er  the  whole  so  strict  a  watch  they  keep. 

Twice  in  the  day  they  count  both  lambs  and  sheep. 

But  since  you  will  thus  madly  persevere, 

I'll  lay  a  wager  which  is  far  more  dear  : 

Two  beechen  bowls  I  have  of  fairest  frame, 

From  the  divine  Alcemedon  they  came ; 

With  berries  shaded  by  the  mantling  vine, 

:  Round  either  work  pale  ivy-branches  twine  : 

Upon  the  front  two  figures  meet  the  view. 

Conon,  and  he — what's  that  you  call  him  1  who 

Marked  all  the  countries  of  the  spacious  sphere, 

And  taught  the  swain  to  know  the  varying  year  ) 

No  lip  has  ever  tainted  either  cup, 

With  best  of  care  I  keep  both  treasured  up. 

DAMAETAS. 
Of  the  same  mould  I  also  have  a  pair, 
Adorned  with  grapes,  and  wreath' d  with  foliage  fair : 
The  famous  Orpheus  in  the  midst  is  found, 
The  forests  dancing  to  his  lyre  around, 
Nor  has  man's  lip  yet  tainted  either  cup, 
With  equal  care  I  keep  them  treasured  up. 

MAEXALCAS. 

I  shall  agree  to  whatsoe'er  you  say, 
I  am  resolved  you  sha'nt  escape  to  day ; 
Let  friend  Palaemon,  who  now  hastens  nigh, 
Adjudge  between  us  while  we  sing  and  vie, 


156  PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL. 

And  rest  assured  I'll  shortly  let  you  sec 
That  never  more  you/ 11  dare  to  challenge  me. 

DAMAETAS. 

I  stand,  come  on,  if  you  have  ought  to  say : 
In  me  there  shall  not  be  the  least  delay ; 
No  man  that  breathes  can  give  me  cause  to  fear, 
Nor  do  I  care  whatever  judge  shall  hear  ; 
Hear,  then,  Palaemon  !  hear  our  songs  and  mind 
This  is  a  matter  of  no  trivial  kind. 

PALAEMON. 

Since,  then,  we  sit  amidst  this  grassy  scene, 
Sing  on,  behold  !  now  every  field  is  green  ; 
In  verdure  bright  the  waving  woods  are  crowned, 
And  spring  displays  her  glories  all  around. 
The  warm  debate  let  your  Damaetas-lead, 
Without  delay  Maenalcas  shall  succeed, 
In  strains  alternate  raise  your  warbling  voice, 
Alternate  measure  is  the  Muses'  choice. 

DAMAETAS. 

With  Jove,  0  Muses  !  I  begin  my  song, 
To  him  all  things  on  earth,  in  heav'n  belong, 
Far  o'er  the  world  his  bounteous  hand  extends, 
And  to  my  lays  a  willing  ear  he  lends. 

MAENALCAS. 

In  praise  of  Phoebus  I  awake  my  strain, 

He  loves  the  music  of  his  favoured  swain, 

He  Btill  inspires  me  with  his  aid  divine, 

And  'round  my  brow  his  graceful  garlands  twine. 


PASTORALS    OF  VIRGIL.  157 

DAMAETAS. 

My  Galatea  lovely,  light  and  gay, 
Pelts  me  with  apples  and  then  skips  away, — 
She  runs  to  hide  among  the  willows  green, 
But  ere  she  gains  them  wishes  to  be  seen. 

MAENALCAS. 

My  fond  Amyntas  no  such  cunning  tries, 
But  willingly  to  my  embraces  flies, 
And  now  at  length  has  so  familiar  grown, 
That  Delia's  self  is  not  more  fully  known. 

DAMAETAS. 

As  late  I  wander  'd  thro'  the  myrtle  grove 
I  found  a  present  worthy  of  my  love, 
A  wood-dove's  nest  I  marked  with  careful  eyes, 
And  to  the  fair  I'll  shortly  bear  the  prize. 

MAENALCAS. 

I  sent  my  love  ten  plums  of  waxen  hue, 
The  choice  of  all  that  in  my  garden  grew ; 
'Twas  all  the  present  I  could  offer  then, 
But  on  the  morn  I'll  send  another  ten. 

DAMAETAS. 

"What  charming  strains  have  met  my  raptured  ear, 
Sung  by  my  own,  my  Galatea  dear  ! 
Haste,  gentle  spirit  of  the  balmy  air  ! 
And  to  the  Gods  the  grateful  accents  bear. 

MAENALCAS. 

Altho',  my  Love!  thou  giv'st  me  all  thy  heart, 

What  pleasure,  think 'st  thou,  can  the  gift  impart, 
14 


158  PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL. 

If,  while  alone  I  watch  the  circling  snare, 
Thou  hunt'st  the  boar,  and  I  no  danger  share  1 

DAMAETAS. 

I  hold  a  feast,  for  'tis  my  natal  hour, 
Send  back  my  Phyllis  to  my  joyous  bow'r. 
"When  for  the  fruits  an  off 'ring  I  prepare, 
0  then,  Iollas  !  let  thyself  be  there. 

MAENALCAS. 

Of  all  the  maids  that  grace  our  happy  coast, 
In  my  own  Phyllis  I  delight  the  most  ; 
Fast  fell  her  tears  when  from  her  I  withdrew — 
"  Adieu,"  she  cried,  "dear  lovely  youth,  adieu.' 

DAMAETAS. 

The  wolf  is  fatal  to  the  fold  ;  and  rain 
Is  most  destructive  to  the  rip'ning  grain, 
The  winds  are  hurtful  to  the  leafy  grove, 
To  me  the  frown  of  my  ungrateful  love. 

MAENALCAS. 

Soft  showers  are  grateful  to  the  spiky  blade, 
Dear  to  the  lambkin  is  the  cooling  shade, 
To  teeming  cattle  sweet  the  willow  tree, 
But  nought  is  pleasing  but  my  love,  to  me. 

DAMAETAS. 

The  strains  I  write  great  Pollio  doth  peruse, 
Tho'  they  are  efforts  of  the  humblest  muse ; 
A  heifer,  Muses  !  for  your  lover  feed, 
For  he  is  worthy  of  a  heav'nly  meed. 


PASTORALS   OF   VIRGIL.  159 

MAENALCAS. 

Sweet  verses,  too,  my  Pollio's  self  can  make, 
Ye  Muses  !  breed  the  bullock  for  his  sake, 
That  with  his  horns  now  levels  at  the  ground, 
Roars,  kicks,  and  flings  the  scatter'd  sands  around. 

DAMAETAS. 

May  ho  who  loves  thee  gain  that  noble  height, 
On  which,  0  Pollio  !  thou  dost  now  delight ; 
Thro'  all  his  fields  may  streams  of  honey  flow, 
And  on  his  hedge  the  sweet  Amomum  grow. 

MAENALCAS. 

Let  him  who  hates  not  Bavius'  sorry  lays. 
With  all  his  heart  the  songs  of  Mavius  praise  ; 
Milk  from  the  he-goat  may  he  strive  to  gain, 
And  harness  foxes  in  the  rolling  wain. 

DAEMETAS. 

Ye  little  boys,  who  waste  the  sunny  hours, 
In  picking  berries  and  in  gath'ring  flow'rs, 
0  cease  your  sport  and  from  the  meadow  fly, 
Beneath  the  grass  a  speckled  snake  doth  lie. 

MAENALCAS. 

0  stay  your  steps,  my  little  lambkins  !  stay  ! 
The  banks  are  false,  0  thence  pursue  your  play  ;    . 
The  ram  himself  has  but  escaped  the  stream, 
And  now  he  dries  him  in  the  noontide  beam. 

DAMAETAS. 

Let  not  your  flocks  too  near  the  river  stray, 
Drive  them,  0  Tityrus  !  drive  them  away ; 


160  PASTORALS   OF  VIRGIL. 

Myself  will  hasten  when  the  time  shall  call, 
And  in  the  river  wash  their  fleeces  all. 

MAENALCAS. 

Arise,  ye  swains  !  and  from  this  scorching  heat, 

0  drive  your  cattle  to  some  cool  retreat ; 
If,  as  of  late,  it  dry  the  milk  again, 
The  empty  udder  will  be  prest  in  vain. 

DAMAETAS. 

How  can  my  steers  be  thus  so  meagre  found, 
When  nought  but  verdure  clothes  my  fertile  ground  ? 
The  love  that  ruinates  the  shepherd  swain, 
Is,  too,  I  find,  th'  unhappy  cattle's  bane. 

MAENALCAS. 
Free  are  my  flocks  from  love's  destructive  flame. 
And  yet  they  barely  can  support  their  frame : 

1  cannot  tell,  from  what  malignant  glance 
My  little  lambs  have  met  this  sad  mischance. 

DAMAETAS. 

Tell  me  now  truly  where  that  country  lies 
(And  thou  shalt  then  another  Phaebus  rise) 
Upon  whose  breast  a  wondrous  spot  is  found, 
Which  but  three  yards  of  clear  blue  air  surround  .- 

MAENALCAS. 

Nay — tell  me  thou,  and  to  thy  happy  arms 
Will  I  resign  my  Phyllis'  heav'nly  charms, 
Where  lies  a  land  in  which  a  flowret  springs 
Marked  on  the  petals  with  the  names  of  kings  1 


PASTORALS   OF  VIRGIL.  161 

PALAEMON. 

In  strifes  where  skill  has  been  so  ably  tried 
It  is  not  mine  the  diff 'rence  to  decide  ; 
In  truth  you  both  may  boast  an  equal  name, 
And  to  the  prize  assert  a  mutual  claim, 
For  having  warbled,  in  such  moving  strains, 
Love's  bitter  sweets,  and  love's  delightful  pains. 
Now  let  no  more  the  stream  of  music  flow, 
Enough,  enough,  your  tuneful  powers  we  know. 


POLLIO. 

Sicilian  Nymphs  !  awake  ye  once  again, 
And  tune  your  voices  to  a  nobler  strain. 
All  take  not  pleasure  in  the  rural  scene, 
The  stately  forest,  and  the  flowery  green ; 
If  woods  and  shades  inspire  your  poet's  lays, 
Let  such  deserve  a  Roman  Consul's  praise. 

The  age  draws  nigh  foretold  by  Cumean  strain, 

And  time  begins  his  glorious  march  acrain : 

The  fair  Astrea,  too,  has  come  once  more, 

To  glad  the  heart,  and  vanished  joys  restore  ; 

O'er  earth  again  blest  Saturn's  reign  extends, 

And  from  the  skies  an  offspring  bright  descends. 

Lend  thy  sweet  succor,  0  Lucina  mild  ! 

And  shed  thy  blessings  on  the  beauteous  child, 

Before  whose  smile  the  time  of  sorrow  flies, 

And  o'er  the  world  a  golden  age  shall  rise, 

Spreading  delight,  and  gladdening  all  the  plains, 
14* 


162  PASTORALS   OF  VIRGIL. 

0  Goddess  !  hear — thine  own  Apollo  reigns  ! 
.  In  thy  blest  consulship  of  peace  and  joy 
Shall  rise,  great  Pollio  !  the  celestial  Boy  ! 
The  pride  of  earth — the  glory  of  our  day. 
And  the  glad  months  resume  their  joyous  way. 
All  vice  shall  cease  in  thy  auspicious  reign. 
And  fear  shall  never  fright  the  world  again ; 
Like  the  great  Gods  the  glorious  youth  shall  be, 
By  Gods  be  seen,  and  Gods  and  heroes  see ; 
Far  o'er  the  earth  extend  his  wide  command, 
And  with  paternal  virtues  rule  the  peaceful  land. 

To  thee,  sweet  Babe  !  meantime  th'  uncultur'd  earth 

Shall  spread  her  gifts,  and  pour  in  beauty  forth 

The  creeping  ivy,  with  the  blossoming  bean, 

And  every  plant  that  decorates  the  green. 

The  goats  shall  homeward  loaded  dugs  convey, 

And,  safe  from  lions,  herds  securely  stray ; 

E'en  o'er  thy  cradle,  beds  of  flowers  shall  rise, 

Sweet  to  the  smell,  and  pleasing  to  the  eyes ; 

From  off  the  land  the  serpent's  brood  shall  fly, 

The  baneful  plant  shall  fade  away  and  die  ; 

On  every  bush  Assyrian  roses  blow, 

And  all  be  joy  and  fadeless  bloom  below. 

As  soon  as  thou,  by  wise  instruction  led, 

Shalt  trace  the  glories  of  the  mighty  dead, 

Learn  the  proud  valor  of  thy  daring  Sire. 

Love  sacred  truth,  and  virtue's  ways  admire, 

In  verdure  bright  shall  shine  the  blooming  plain, 

Far  o'er  the  valleys  wave  the  yellow  grain, 

With  radiant  grapes  the  wildest  bramble  glow. 


PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL.  1G3 

And  streams  of  honey  from  the  oak-tree  flow. 
Of  ancient  guile  shall  still  some  trace  remain. 
And  some  will  dare  the  rolling  seas  again. 
With  walls  of  stone  encircle  cities  'round, 
And  plough  the  field,  and  till  the  fruitful  ground  ; 
Again  another  Typhis  shall  appear, 
O'er  the  blue  deep  another  Argos  steer, 
Again  shall  war  his  thund'ring  pow'rs  employ. 
And  brave  Achilles  haste  again  to  Troy. 

When  o'er  thee  dawns  the  light  of  manhood's  day. 
No  more  the  seaman  ploughs  the  watery  way, 
The  ship  for  goods  will  seek  no  foreign  strand, 
Abundant  fruits  shall  grow  in  every  land ;    • 
No  more  the  vine  shall  fear  the  primer's  steel, 
The  ground  no  more  the  harrow's  tooth  shall  feel  ; 
The  swain  shall  cease  to  cut  the  fallow  soil. 
And  free  his  teams  for  evermore  from  toil  ; 
The  fleece  no  longer  shall  beguile  the  view, 
And  shine  conspicuous  with  a  foreign  hue. 
But  clad  in  scarlet  frisks  the  bounding  lamb, 
And  in  a  glitt'ring  robe  shall  roam  the  lordly  ram. 

::  Haste  to  the  birth,  bright  ages  !  haste  along," 
(Thus  to  her  spindles  Fate  attuned  her  song.) 
"0  shining  offspring  of  immortal  Jove  ! 
March  on  thy  way,  to  signal  honors  move : 
See  the  vast  earth,  the  skies  and  mighty  sea, 
In  sign  of  rapture  bowing  all  to  Thee  ! 
Hear  far  and  near  glad  Nature  lift  her  voice, 
Hail  the  bright  age.  and  at  thy  birth  rejoice  !'' 


164  PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL. 

"Would  heav'n  prolong  the  remnant  of  my  days, 
And  give  me  strength  to  celebrate  thy  praise, 
Nor  tuneful  Linus,  nor  the  Thracian  swain 
Should  match  my  voice  or  emulate  the  strain, 
Tho'  either  breast  would  glow  with  heav'nly  fire, 
And  this  the  mother  aid  and  that  the  Sire, 
Should  Pan  himself  in  song  with  me  compare, 
Its  God  excelled  Arcadia  would  declare. 
Begin,  then,  Babe !  to  own  thy  mother's  smile, 
And  with  thy  beauty  all  her  heart  beguile  ; 
To  the  deep  anguish  which  she  bore  for  you 
That  little  love,  that  passing  joy  is  due ; 
Then  smile, — the  child  who  wears  a  gloomy  frown, 
No  God  shall  bless,  nor  Goddess'  love  shall  crown. 


D  APHNIS, 

MAENALCAS  AND   MOPS US. 
MAENALCAS. 
Since  we  have  met,  0  Mopsus  !  skillful  swains, 
Thou  on  the  reed,  and  I  in  vocal  strains, 
Come  let  us  here  beneath  the  grove  recline, 
Where  boughs  of  elm  and  hazel  branches  twine. 

MOPSUS. 
Do  thou,  Maenalcas  !  but  direct  the  way, 
My  senior's  voice  commands  me  to  obey, 
Whether  thou  wilt  beneath  the  shade  repair. 
Whose  light  leaves  quiver  to  the  gentle  air, 


PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL.  1G5 

Or  to  the  covert  of  yon  grotto  go, 

Around  whose  sides  the  mantling  wild  weeds  grow. 

MAENALCAS. 
Of  all  the  bards  that  to  our  fields  belong. 
None  but  Amyntas  equals  thee  in  song. 

MOPSUS. 
What  deed  would  not  that  daring  minstrel  try. 
With  Phaebus'  self  who  would  attempt  to  vie  ? 

MAENALCAS. 

Begin,  then.  Mopsus  !  if  thou  wilt  approve 
Of  Alcon's  merits,  or  of  Phyllis'  love. 
To  Codrus'  strife  if  thou  art  more  inclined. 
Begin — thy  flocks  young  Tityrus  will  mind. 

MOPSUS. 
I  would  prefer  to  sing  that  blightsome  lay 
I  marked  the  beach  -with  on  a  recent  day  ; 
I  wrote  and  sang,  and  sang  and  wrote  again, 
Amyntas  then  may  come  and  try  the  strain. 

MENALCAS. 

Near  olive  boughs  as  osier-twigs  appear, 
As  looks  the  shrub  with  beds  of  roses  near, 
E'en  thus,  my  friend  !  if  rightly  I  divine, 
Are  his  best  efforts  when  compared  to  thine. 

MOPSUS. 
Of  this  no  more.     Before  us  is  the  cave. 
The  nymphs  wailed  loud  o'er  Daphnis'  early  grave ; 
The  streams  and  laurels  heard  the  mother's  moan, 


166  PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL. 

When  to  her  breast  she  clasped  her  lifeless  son. 

And  wailed  aloud,  and  cursed  the  cruel  skies, 

"With  copious  sorrows,  and  with  ceaseless  cries  ; 

Their  wonted  cares  the  shepherds  all  forsook. 

No  more  their  cattle  wandered  to  the  brook ; 

The  steed  no  longer  grazed  the  grassy  plain, 

The  silver  stream  allured  his  thirst  in  vain  ; 

With  sorrow  deep  the  Lybian  lions  mourned, 

And  wood  and  wild  around  the  plaintive  strain  returned. 

'Twas  Daphnis  first  put  tigers  to  the  wain, 

And  made  them  turn  obedient  to  his  rein ; 

He,  too,  with  wreaths  adorned  the  slender  lance, 

And  introduced  the  Bacchanalian  dance. 

As  the  bull  is  the  glory  of  the  kine, 

The  vine  the  tree — the  blushing  grape  the  vine — 

As  the  corn  is  the  beauty  of  the  plains — 

Was  he  the  pride  of  all  his  brother  swains. 

Since  cruel  Fortune  snatched  him  from  the  light, 

The  Gods  themselves  have  vanished  from  our  sight  ; 

Where  we  are  wont  the  goodly  corn  to  sow, 

Wild  barren  oats,  and  fruitless  darnel  grow  ; 

Nought  but  the  thistle  opens  on  our  view, 

Where  once  the  vi'let  and  narcissus  blew. 

Strew  the  ground  o'er  with  purple  flowers,  and  bring 

Green  shady  leaves  to  cover  every  spring ; 

This  simple  task  our  Daphnis'  self  assigns, 

Raise  him  a  stone  and  o'er  it  write  these  lines  : 

c:Rcnowned  on  earth  and  honored  in  the  sky, 

Here  I,  young  Daphnis  of  the  woodlands  he  ; 

Fair  was  the  flock  that  ever  claimed  my  care, 

But  I  myself  more  beautiful,  more  fair." 


PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL.  1G7 


MENALCAS. 


Like  a  cool  draught  from  some  refreshing  stream, 
In  the  hot  blaze  of  Summer's  scorching  beam, 
Like  gentle  slumber  to  the  wearied  swain, 
To  me,  sweet  Bard  !  is  thy  delightful  strain. 
Not  ev'n  upon  the  slender  pipe  alone 
Is  equal  merit  with  thy  master  shown  ; 
Thine  also,  Mopsus  !  are  his  powers  of  voice, 
And  next  to  him  shalt  thou  be  now  our  choice. 
In  turn,  I  too,  shall  sing  this  song  of  mine, 
And  rank  our  Daphnis  with  the  powers. divine ; 
I  shared,  like  thee  that  gentle  bosom's  love. 
So  will  I  raise  him  to  the  realms  above. 

MOPSUS. 

Can  ought  more  please  me  than  the  promised  praise  ? 

Well  did  the  stripling  merit  all  thy  lays. 

Thy  Stimachon  before  this  period  long 

Oft  praised  to  me  the  sweetness  of  thy  song. 

*       MENALCAS. 

Fair  Daphnis  now  a  stranger  to  the  skies, 
Regards  the  scene  with  wonder-rolling  eyes, 
And  bright  in  air  below  his  feet  afar, 
Beholds  the  clouds  and  every  glorious  star. 
Beneath  the  shade  now  Pleasure  lifts  her  voice, 
And  Pan,  the  shepherds,  and  the  nymphs  rejoice. 
The  wolf  no  longer,  in  his  fury  bold, 
Leaps  o'er  the  hedge  to  dissipate  the  fold ; 
Destructive  snares  no  more  the  deer  destroy, 
For  peace  was  ever  gentle  Daphnis'  joy. 


108  PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL. 

The'savage  hills,  in  carols  of  delight, 

Send  forth  their  voices  to  the  starry  height, 

And  rocks  and  forests  fling  their  notes  abroad, 

And  shout  aloud — "He  is  a  God,  a  God  !" 

Be,  then,  0  Daphnis  !  mindful  of  thy  line, 

Four  sacred  altars  lo  !  we  here  design, 

And  two  to  thine,  and  two  to  Phaebus'  name, 

With  grateful  off' rings  frequently  shall  flame. 

Each  coming  year  to  thee  myself  will  pour 

Of  milk  two  bowls,  of  gen'rous  oil  two  more  ; 

The  richest  banquets  also  shall  be  made, 

At  home,  if  winter — harvest,  in  the  shade  ; 

Two  cups,  besides,  of  rosy  chian  wine, 

Sweet  as  the  nectar,  shall  bedew  thy  shrine : 

While  Aegon's  hand  shall  strike  the  sounding  strings, 

And  in  sweet  harmony  Damaetas  sings  ; 

Alphaesebeus  mid  the  dance  shall  bound, 

And  mimic  Satyrs  in  their  frolic  round. 

These  rites  and  duties  to  thine  honor  due 

Thy  faithful  follow'rs  ever  shall  renew, 

When  to  the  nymphs  our  yearly  vows  we  pay, 

Or  the  wide  circuit  of  the  fields  survey. 

While' er  the  boar  his  mountain  sport  pursues, 

The  bee  loves  honey,  locusts  drink  the  dews, 

While  fish  delight  to  roam  the  liquid  plain, 

Thy  name,  thy  praise,  and  honor  shall  remain  ; 

As  unto  Bacchus  and  to  Ceres  now 

The  pious  shepherd  breathes  his  humble  vow, 

So  shall  he  also  supplicate  thine  ear, 

And  thou  like  them,  his  ardent  pray'r  shalt  hear. 


PASTORALS   OF  VIRGIL.  169 

MOPSUS. 
So  sweet  a  song,  0  !  how  shall  I  repay, 
What  present  offer  worthy  such  a  lay  1 
The  gentle  whisper  of  the  wak'ning  gale — 
The  stream  soft  purling  down  the  pebbly  vale — 
The  rush  of  billows  on  the  sounding  shore 
With  all  their  charms  could  not  delight  me  more. 

MEN  A  LC  AS. 

To  thee,  my  friend  !  the  primal  gift  belongs, 
Take,  then,  the  pipe  that  played  my  early  songs. 
•  "Young  Corydou  the  simple  shepherd  swain 
Loved  fair  Alexis  but  he  loved  in  vain, — " 
: Whose  flocks  are  these  ?  belong  they  to  my  friend  1 
gon  who  owns  them  gave  them  me  to  tend.'' 

MOPSUS. 

Take  thou  this  crook  of  equal  pieces  made, 
With  rows  besides  of  polished  rings  arrayed, 
Which  oft  Antigenes  has  tried  to  gain, 
I>ut  tho'  so  worthy  always  asked  in  vain. 


SILENUS. 

BEGIN,  0  Muse  !  the  sylvan  strain  to  sound  : 

Their  God  Silcnus  two  gay  shepherds  found. 

Within  his  cave  he  snored  away  supine, 

Oppressed  as  usual  with  a  weight  of  wine : 

From  off  his  brow  Ins  fillets  all  were  flung, 

And  on  its  handle  worn  his  ponderous  tankard  hung. 

They  bound  the  slumb'rer  with  his  wreaths,  for  long 
15 


170  PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL. 

Had  he  beguiled  them  with  a  promised  song  : 
To  join  the  sport  meanwhile  a  Naiad  came, 
Fair  Eagle,  fairest  of  the  watery  name, 
And,  as  the  sleeper  opes  his  burning  eyes, 
She  paints  his  visage  with  vermilion  dyes. 
Their  frolic  feat  the  drowsy  father  eyed, 
And  with  a  smile  he  thus  complacent  cried  ; 
'•Come,  little  lads  !  unbind  those  rosy  bands, 
Why  should  ye  fetter  thus  a  Godhead's  hands  ? 
It  is  enough  that  I  should  so  appear, 
Attend  at  last,  then,  what  ye  long  to  hear  ; 
You  I  will  solace  with  the  coming  lay, 
To  please  the  nymph  I'll  find  another  way. 
He  then  begins,  and  as  he  lifts  the  song, 
The  fauns  and  savages,  a  num'rous  throng, 
In  airy  measures  'round  the  greensward  dance, 
The  oaks  themselves  wave  thro'  the  blue  expanse. 
If  sweet  Apollo  tuned  his  heav'nly  voice, 
Parnassus'  rocks  could  not  more  loud  rejoice, 
Did  tuneful  Orpheus  strike  the  mournful  lyre, 
The  Thracian  mountains  would  not  so  admire. 
He  sang  aloud,  how  thro'  th'  etherial  space, 
The  seeds  of  air,  earth,  sea,  and  light  had  place. 
How  from  the  whole  our  elements  began, 
Till  earth  resolved  upon  its  present  plan, 
Shut  up  the  waters  in  old  ocean's  womb, 
And  by  degrees  the  form  of  things  assume, 
How  the  young  world  beheld,  with  wild  amaze, 
The  new-born  sun  diffuse  his  dazzling  rays, 
The  clouds  in  ether  were  suspended  high, 
The  showers  began  to  leave  the  purple  sky, 


PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL.  171 

The  woods  arose,  and  then,  o'er  mountains  strange, 

The  lonely  animals  began  to  range. 

To  other  themes  he  soon  adapts  the  strain, 

And  sings  the  joys  of  Saturn's  blissful  reign  ; 

The  tale  of  Phyrra,  bold  Prometheus,  fraud, 

The  birds  by  which  his  guilty  heart  was  gnawed  ; 

The  weeping  swains  who  mourned  their  Hylas  lost. 

While  "  Hylas,  Hylas  "  rung  round  all  the  coast. 

In  sadder  notes  the  music  now  arose, 

While  thus  he  warbl'd  Pasiphea's  woes ; — 

Unhappy  maiden  !  thrice  ill  fated  queen  ! 

Blest  were  thy  lot  if  herds  had  never  been, 

0  wretched  one  !  what  phrenzy  fires  thy  brain  1 

The  maids  of  Proteus  roared  around  the  plain ; 

But  ah  !  not  one  of  all  that  hapless  race, 

Ere  sought,  like  thee,  a  filthy  beast's  embrace, 

Wild  as  their  fears  were  of  the  crooked  plough, 

Or  horns  arising  from  their  even  brow  ! 

While  thus,  0  maid  !   thro'  deserts  thou  wilt  rove, 

On  beds  of  hyacinth  reclines  thy  love, 

Or  in  the  shade  his  cud  he  calmly  chews, 

Or  mid  the  herd  a  fitter  mate  pursues. 

"  Close,  Nynipli3  !  the  lawns ;  perhaps  upon  these  eyes 

Still  may  the  form  of  my  loved  bullock  rise ; 

But  ah  !  that  sight  I  seek  perchance  in  vain, 

And  he  delights  to  roam  the  blooming  plain, 

Or,  lured,  alas  !  where  some  fair  heifer  calls, 

Seeks  the  calm  covert  of  the  Grossian  stalls." 

The  God  next  sings  the  wily  lover's  part, 

That  with  deceit,  decoyed  the  maiden's  heart ; 

Then  wraps  in  moss  Phaeton's  sisters  'round, 


172  PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL. 

And  rears  the  stately  alders  o'er  the  ground. 
The  singer  then  adopted  for  his  theme, 
How  Gallus  strayed  along  Permessus'  stream, 
And,  by  the  guidance  of  a  heav'nly  maid, 
Was  to  the  high  Aonian  hills  conveyed, 
Where,  as  he  wandered,  every  Phseban  choir, 
In  rev'rence  rose,  and  struck  the  sounding  lyre, 
How  Linus  then,  the  son  of  song  divine, 
Around  whose  brow  ambrosial  garlands  twine, 
Thus  mild  accosted  him  ;  "  This  present  take 
Which  now  to  thee,  behold  the  Muses  make, 
The  same  sweet  pipe  which  that  celestial  band, 
In  former  days  bestowed  to  Hesiod's  hand, 
And  at  whose  heav'nly  and  harmonious  sound 
Forth  from  the  hills,  the  woods  came  dancing  'round. 
On  this  resound  the  praise  of  Gryneum's  grove. 
That  for  no  spot  may  Phoebus  show  such  love.>; 

Why  should  I  tell  of  Sylla's  foaming  caves, 
Around  whose  entrance  roar  ten  thousand  waves, 
That  closed  the  fleets  of  Ithacus  around, 
And  sank  them  shatter 'd  in  the  vast  profound, 
Then  gave  the  remnants  of  his  hapless  train 
To  howling  dogs,  and  monsters  of  the  main  1 
Why  sing  the  fate  unhappy  Tereus  shared, 
What  presents  for  him  Philomel  prepared, 
What  bloody  banquets  to  his  board  she  brought. 
With  what  express  the  solitudes  he  sought, 
Or  on  what  pinions  o'er  those  domes  he  soared 
( )f  which,  unhappy  !  he  was  once  the  lord  '? 
Each  pleasing  strain  the  heav'nly  master  sings. 


PASTORALS    OF    VIRGIL.  173 

Which  once  had  trembled  from  Apollo's  strings, 
While  rolled  Eurotas  o'er  his  raptured  way, 
And  bade  his  laurels  learn  the  charming  lay. 
The  valleys  echo  to  the  starry  dome, 
And  Hesper  warns  the  sheep  and  shepherds  home, 
And  loth,  full  loth  to  lose  the  grateful  song, 
Wide  o'er  the  skies  reluctant  rolls  along. 


MELIBAEUS,  CORYDOX,  THYRSIS. 

MELIBAEUS. 

As  Daphnis  once  beneath  an  oak  reclined, 

Whose  light  leaves  quivered  in  the  wanton  wind, 

And  Corydon  and  Thyrsis  near  him  lay 

"Who  gave  their  flocks  promiscuously  to  stray, 

(Both  fair  Arcadians  in  youth's  flow'ry  prime, 

Both  skilled  to  form  the  Amabaean  rhyme.) 

My  ram  had  someway  wandered  from  the  fold, 

Whilst  I  secured  my  myrtles  from  the  cold. 

I  sought  him  there,  and  Daphnis  I  descried, 

Who  when  he  saw  me  thus  at  distance  cried  : — 

"  Thy  ram  is  safe  and  all  thy  fleecy  care ; 

Remain  with  us  if  thou  hast  time  to  spare  ; 

Here  Mincius'  banks  are  crowned  with  whisp?ring  reeds. 

Thy  herds  to  drink  will  quickly  cross  the  meads : 

Behold  yon  tree  that's  sacred  to  the  skies. 

W  hat  swarms  of  bees  around  it  murmuring  rise." 

What  could  I  do  ?  my  cot  required  my  care 

Nor  was  my  Phyllis,  nor  Alcippe  there  : 
15^ 


174  PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL. 

Here  underneath  the  freshness  of  the  shade, 
.Between  the  swains  a  vocal  match  was  made. 
Awhile,  at  length,  I  brought  myself  to  stay, 
And  to  my  bus'ness  thus  prefer' d  their  play. 
Alternate  singing  was  the  kind  they  chose, 
And  thus  in  order  cither  voice  arose. 

CORYDOX. 

0  ye  that  love  to  haunt  the  fountains  bright. 
Ye  nymphs  of  Helicon,  my  dear  delight ! 
This  breast  with  all  my  Codrus'  power  inspire, 
Who  next  to  Phoebus  best  attunes  the  lyre. 
Ebe  now  all  care  of  numbers  I  resign, 
And  hang  my  harp  upon  the  hallowed  pine. 

TIIYRSIS. 

Sink  the  low  soul  of  Codrus  in  despair, 
And  weave,  ye  Swains  !  a  chaplet  for  my  hair 
Bat  lest  he  strive,  with  an  insidious  aim, 
To  raise  on  high  your  rising  poet's  name. 
Around  my  brow  the  Lady-glove  entwine. 
And  blast  the  prospect  of  his  bad  design. 

CORYDON. 

Tu  thee,  0  Delia !  Mycon  offers  here, 
\  wild  boar'fl  head,  and  antlers  of  a  deer  ; 
But  if  thou  wilt  continue  still  to  bless 
His  future  fortunes  with  his  past  success. 
In  polished  marble  thou  shalt  stand  on  high. 
Arrayed  in  buskins  of  the  Tynan  dye. 


PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL.  17-3 

THYRSIS. 
To  thee,  do  we  this  yearly  off 'ring  make. 
A  bowl  of  milk,  a  little  barley  cake ; 
Thou  can'st,  0  Priapus  !  expect  no  more, 
Small  is  the  garden  which  thou  rulest  o"er ; 
But  if  the  Spring  augment  our  scanty  fold, 
Thy  marble  statue  shall  arise  in  gold. 

CORTDON. 

Sweet  Galatea,  Xereus"  blooming  heir, 

More  dear  than  Hybla,  more  than  ivy,  fair. 

More  light,  more  graceful  than  the  snowy  swan  ! 

0  if  thy  heart  still  dreams  of  Cory  don, 

When  all  is  still,  and  herds  are  wand" ring  home. 

Come  then,  sweet  maiden !  if  thou  lov'st  me  come. 

THYRSIS. 

Vile  as  the  sea-weed  rotting  on  the  shore — 
Sour  as  the  crow-foot — wild  as  ocean's  roar — 
May  I,  my  fair  one  !  in  thine  eyes  appear 
If  this  day  seem  not  longer  than  a  year  ; 
Ah  !  wherefore  thus  prolong  the  tedious  day  I 
Away,  ye  herds  !  ye  tardy  herds  !  away. 

CORTDON. 

Ye  mossy  fountains  !  and  ye  flowery  green3  ! 
Ye  silvan  shades  that  crown  those  beauteous  scenes  ! 
Defend  my  flocks,  the  suns  of  summer  shine. 
And  laughing  buds  appear  on  every  vine. 

THYRSIS. 

Here  is  a  hearth  for  ever  crowned  with  fire. 
Here  clouds  of  smoke  and  unctious  pines  aspire. 


17G  PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL. 

Here  we  as  much  regard  the  wintry  wind, 

As  streams  their  banks,  or  flow'rs  the  fleecy  kind. 

CORYDON. 

Here  junipers  and  chestnut  trees  abound, 
And  fruits  unnumbered  lie  dispersed  around, 
Here  nature  smiles,  but  were  my  love  not  nigh, 
The  very  streams  would  leave  their  channels  dry. 

TIIYRSIS. 

The  field  is  parched — the  herbage  thirsts  and  dies, 
And  Bacchus  to  our  hills  the  shady  vine  denies : 
When  Phyllis  comes,  the  groves  will  bloom  again. 
And  Jove  descend  in  show'rs  of  kindly  rain. 

CORYDOX. 

With  poplar-twigs  Alcides  crowns  his  brow — 
The  great  Apollo  wears  his  laurel  bough — 
The  slender  vine  the  merry  Bacchus  loves, 
Venus  delights  in  fragrant  myrtle  groves  ; 
But  while  the  hazel  is  my  fav'rite's  tree, 
0  none,  sweet  hazel !  shall  compare  with  thee. 

TIIYRSIS. 

The  pine  in  gardens — poplar  near  the  rills — 
The  ash  in  woods — the  fir  among  the  hills — 
Of  all  the  trees  that  wildly  flourish  there. 
0  there  is  none  that  is  so  sweetly  fair : 
But  if  my  love  would  oft'ner  visit  me, 
No  bough  on  earth  would  be  so  bright  as  she. 


PASTORALS    OF    VIRGIL.  177 

MELIBAEUS. 

I  marked  your  son^s,  but  Thvrsis  strove  in  vain. 
Now  Corydon  shall  be  our  fav'rite  swain. 


DAMON  AND  ALPHESIBEUS 

TilE  mournful  lays  of  two  despairing  swains. 

To  hear  whose  sighs  the  flocks  forsook  the  plains. 

In  wild  amaze  the  lynxes  listening  stood 

No  longer  mindful  of  their  grassy  food, 

The  rivers  stopp'd  along  their  winding  ways — 

Of  d^pakisg  sad  swains  I  sing  the  mournful  lays. 

0  Thou  !  where'er  thou  lead'st  thy  conquering  bands, 

Or  by  Timavus  or  th"  Illyrian  strands. 

Shall  I,  great  Pollio  !  e'er  behold  the  day, 

When  to  thy  praise  I'll  wake  the  lofty  lay. 

The  happy  day  when  'round  the  world  my  muse 

In  worthy  strains  thy  glory  may  diffuse  ? 

With  thee  I  rose,  with  thee  I  shall  be  done, 

Accept  the  songs  at  thy  command  begun  : 

And  0  be  pleased  this  ivy-wreath  should  now 

Mix  with  the  laurels  that  adorn  thy  brow. 

Scarce  in  the  East  awoke  the  light  of  dawn. 
What  time  the  kid  best  loves  the  dewy  lawn. 
When  drown' d  in  tears  beneath  an  olive-shade. 
His  hopeless  plaint  thus  hapless  Damon  made  : — 

ir  of  the  Morn  !  ah  !  show  thy  golden  ray. 
Rise,  Lucifer  !  and  usher  in  the  day, 
While  I  the  wretched  victim  of  despair. 


178  PASTORALS    OF   VIRGIL. 

Deceived  and  slighted  by  my  faithless  fair, 

Here  pour  alone  my  unavailing  sigh, 

And  to  the  last  attest  the  conscious  sky, 

Tho'  oft,  "too  oft  I've  called  on  heav'n  in  vain — 

Begin,  my  Pipe  !  begin  the  sad  Maenalean  strain. 

In  vocal  pines  mount  Mamalus  abounds, 

Where  music  floats — where  heav'nly  song  resounds — 

Their  love-sick  lays  he  hears  the  shepherds  sing, 

Thro*  all  his  groves  Pan's  rural  measures  ring, 

Who  first  ordained  the  idle  reed  to  play — 

Resound,  my  Pipe  !  resound  the  sweet  Maenalean  lay. 

Oh  !  Mopsus  now  enjoys  my  Nisa's  charms, 

Away — away  with  all  your  vain  alarms  ; 

When  such  a  spouse  has  blessed  that  rugged  swain, 

What  may,  ye  Lovers !  not  expect  to  gain  ? 

The  steed  and  griffin  soon  shall  form  a  team, 

And  hinds  and  hounds  partake  the  same  bright  stream  ! 

0  happy  youth  !  the  bridal  torch  provide  ; 

Strew  nuts  around,  and  hail  thy  new  made  bride  ; 

For  thee  the  night,  the  glad  night  hastes  along — 

Awake,  my  pipe  !  awake  the  soft  Maenalean  song. 

Thrice  happy  maiden  !  well  may'st  thou  rejoice. 

True  was  thy  taste  and  worthy  is  thy  choice ; 

Thou  hast  despised  my  lute's  discordant  notes, 

My  bushy  locks,  my  beard,  and  browsing  goats  : 

Thou  think'st  the  Gods  forget  a  lover's  pain — 

Begin,  my  pipe  !  begin  the  sad  Maenalian  strain. 

When  first  mine  eyes  thy  beauteous  form  espied. 

'Twas  in  fair  childhood  by  thy  mother's  side; 

Then  to  the  hedge  I  bade  thy  feet  pursue, 

And  showed  the  place  where  mellow  apples  grew. 


PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL.  179 

Twelve  years  I  told,  and  from  the  grassy  plain. 

The  tender  hranches  I  could  barely  gain ; 

Ah  !  how  I  looked — loved — sighed  my  heart  away  ! — 

Resound,  my  Pipe  !  resound  the  sweet  Msenalian  lay. 

I  know  you.  Love  !  and  well  I  also  know 

To  what  rude  race  your  rugged  birth  you  owe ; 

In  evil  hour  some  savage  brought  you  forth 

Amid  the  mountains  of  the  stormy  North, 

Nor  to  our  line,  nor  lineage  you  belong — 

Awake,  my  Pipe,  awake  the  soft  Msenalian  song. 

From  savage  love  that  bloody  madness  sprung. 

Which  made  a  mother  slay  her  helpless  young ; 

Thou,  too,  my  Love  !  a  cruel  matron  art  ! 

Which  was  the  cruder,  the  baser  heart  ? 

Vile  was  the  one  which  bade  its  offspring  bleed. 

But  viler  that  which  urged  the  bloody  deed: 

Thou  art  the  mother  of  another  slain — 

Begin,  my  Pipe  !  begin  the  sad  Msenalian  strain. 

Now  from  the  flock  the  wolf  may  fly  at  will, 

Sweet  amber-gums  the  Tamarisks  distill ; 

On  rigid  oaks  may  golden  apples  grow, 

And  on  the  Alder  bright  Narcissus  blow ; 

The  owl  in  beauty  .with  the  swan  may  vie, 

And  Orphean  numbers  Tityrus  may  try  ; 

From  silvan  scenes  let  tuneful  Orpheus  flee, 

To  wake  soft  music  on  the  sounding  sea, 

And  charm  the  dolphins  in  their  watery  play — 

Resound,  my  Pipe  !  resound  the  sweet  Msenalian  lay. 

Farewell,  ye  woods  !  the  world  may  now  for  me. 

Become  one  shoreless  and  tempestuous  sea  ; 

Down  from  the  brow  of  yonder  airy  steep 


180  PASTORALS    OF    VIRGIL. 

Headlong  I'll  plunge  amid  the  boiling  deep  ; 
Take  this  last  present  from  thy  dying  swain, 
And  cease  for  ever.  Pipe  !  the  sad  Mnenalian  strain.'1 

Thus  Damon  mourned.     Now  sing,  ye  heav'nly  choir  ! 
Alpheesebeus,  and  his  happier  fire. 

■•  Bring  forth  the  water,  make  this  altar  bloom, 

There  Vervain  burn,  there  Frankincense  consume  ; 

I  will  essay  by  magic  arts  to  move 

The  icy  breast  of  my  perfidious  love  ; 

The  power  of  spells  is  all  I  nowT  implore — 

Restore  my  love,  ye  charms  !  my  lingering  love  restore. 

By  spells  the  moon  is  drawn  from  where  she  dwell-  : 

Ulysses'  friends  were  all  transformed  by  spells ; 

By  spells  the  adder  may  be  burst  in  twain — 

Lead  Daphnis  home,  my  charms  !  lead  Daphnis  home  again. 

Around  his  bust  three  varied  threads  I  twine. 

And  bear  it  thrice  around  the  sacred  shrine  : 

Unequal  numbers  are  the  Gods'  delight — 

Bring  back  my  love,  ye  charms  !  and  bless  my  longii  ig 

sight. 
Now  haste  thee,  Amaryllis  !  haste  and  tie 
The  various  knots  in  threads  of  diff 'rent  dye, 
And  cry  aloud,  c:  I  weave  fair  Venus'  chain" — 
Lead  Daphnis  home  my  charms !  lead  Daphnis  home  again. 
As  by  the  blaze  this  wax  dissolves  away, 
While  near  that  fire  hard  grows  this  stubborn  clay, 
Thus  may  my  Daphnis'  faithless  heart  incline, 
Hard  to  all  (lames,  or  soft  to  only  mine; — 
Around  the  altar  spread  the  salted  corn, 


PASTORALS  OF   VIRGIL.  181 

In  brimstone  now  these  crackling  olives  burn, 

Make  cruel  Daphnis  love  me  as  before — 

Restore  my  love,  ye  charms !  my  lingering  love  restore. 

As  burns  a  heifer  for  the  steer  she  loves, 

Thro'  lawns,  thro'  forests,  and  thro'  shady  grove3, 

At  length  outworn,  and  lost  amid  her  woes, 

Beside  a  brook  her  wearied  side  she  throws 

Heedless  of  cold,  and  night's  approaching  gloom — 

May  such  desires  my  Daphnis'  soul  consume ; 

I'll  rest,  the  while,  regardless  of  his  pain — 

Lead  Daphnis  home,  my  charms !  lead  Daphnis  home  again. 

These  are  the  garments  of  the  perjured  youth, 

The  sacred  pledges  of  his  plighted  truth ; 

Of  late  he  left  me  the  memorials  dear, 

And  now,  0  Earth !  I  give  them  to  thee  here. 

These  should  relieve  me  and  restore  my  right —     [sight. 

Bring  back  my  love,  ye  charms!  and  bless  my  longing 

'Twas  Mseris  gave  me  these  weird  plants  and  weeds, 

Vast  stores  of  which  the  fertile  Pontus  breeds ; 

By  those  alone  his  form  I've  seen  him  change 

Into  a  wolf's,  and  thro'  the  forest  range ; 

Their  farther  power  I've  seen  him  oft  display, 

With  them  re-animate  the  lifeless  clay, 

Transplant  in  other  fields  the  growing  grain — 

Lead  Daphnis  home,  my  charms !  lead  Daphnis  home  again. 

Now  from  the  altar  living  ashes  bring, 

And  throw  them  backward  in  the  babbling  spring : 

Look  not  around,  but  turn  away  thine  eye, 

This  last  essay  tho'  hopeless  will  I  try  ; 

The  Gods  he  scorns,  and  spells  avail  no  more — 

Restore  my  love,  ye  Charms  !  my  ling' ring  love  restore. 
16 


182  PASTORALS   OF   VIRGIL. 

Now  of  themselves  behold !  the  ashes  rise, 

They  light  the  altar — they  illume  the  skies : 

Still  to  remove  them  I  would  yet  decline, 

Would  to  the  gods  it  were  a  happy  sign  ! 

Yes,  something  now,  I  know  not  what — appears, 

And — from  the  entrance  Hylas  strikes  my  ears ; 

Can  I  believe  ?  or  does  the  mind  in  love 

On  fancy's  wing  o'er  scenes  of  vision  rove  1 

0  no  !   he  comes  !  Desist,  my  powerful  charms  ! 

He  leaves  the  noisy  town,  and  now — is  in  my  arms. 


LYCIDAS. 

What  !  Maeris  !  thou  7 — and  whither  dost  thou  stray  1 
Seek' st  thou  the  town  which  lies  along  this  way  ? 

MAERIS. 

That  day,  0  Lycidas  !  at  length  has  beamed, 

Of  which  our  young  hearts  never  could  have  dreamed, 

When  to  our  teeth  the  stranger's  tongue  can  say, 

II  These  fields  are  ours  !  come,  rascals  !  march  away." 
Now  sunk  and  sorrowful,  since  cruel  Fate 

Thus  mars  our  joys,  and  changes  all  our  state, 
To  robbers  now  I  lead  my  little  flock, — 

III  luck  meantime  attend  them  and  their  stock. 

LYCIDAS. 

Did  I  not  hear  that  by  his  tuneful  strain 
Our  friend  Menalcas  won  his  lands  again, 
Which  from  the  mountain  to  the  river  reach, 
Down  to  the  root  of  yonder  ancient  beach  ? 


PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL.  183 

MAERIS. 

True — thou  didst  hear  it,  and  'twas  spread  afar, 
But  song,  alas  !  as  much  avails  in  war, 
As  does  the  innocent  Dodonian  dove, 
When  the  fierce  eagle  pounces  from  above. 
Had  not  the  raven  from  yon  hollow  oak, 
Forewarned  me  early  by  his  boding  croak, 
To  rest  content,  and  give  all  quarrel  o'er, 
Thy  Maeris,  thy  Menalcas  were  no  more. 

LYCIDAS. 

0  breathed  there  one  in  any  age  or  clime, 

That  would  be  guilty  of  so  black  a  crime  1 

Hushed  then,  Menalcas  !  were  thy  charming  lay, 

E'en  with  thyself  its  sweets  had  passed  away  ! 

Ah  !  who  would  now  the  Naiad* s  woes  resound, 

Or  shade  the  springs,  or  strew  with  flcVrs  the  ground, 

Or  tune  those  numbers  which  of  late  I  played, 

As  to  my  lord  ones  we  together  strayed  1 

11  Dear  Tityrus  !  while  I  remain  away," 

"  Attend  my  flocks,  I  will  not  long  delay," 

"  And  when  at  eve  thou  lead'st  them  to  the  bourne," 

Avoid  the  danger  of  the  ridgeFs  horn." 

MAERIS. 

Whose  muse  but  hi3  could  end  th'  unfinished  lay3, 

In  by-gone  hours  he  sang  to  Varus'  praise? 

"  Thy  name,  0  Varus  !   (if  our  Mantua  dear" 

'•  Too  near  Cremona,  ah  !  too  sadly  near," 

11  From  war's  alarms  still  undisturbed  remain,) 

11  Shall  rise  to  hearn  on  earth's  sublimest  strain" — 


184  PASTORALS   OF   VIRGIL. 

LYCIDAS. 

Still  may  thy  ewes  distend  their  rising  teats, 

Thy  bees  preserve  from  baneful  plants  their  sweets ; 

If  thou  wilt  sing,  then  pour  the  lay  along, 

I  too  am  numbered  with  the  sons  of  song. 
The  shepherd-lads  proclaim  me  hallowed  bard, 
But  to  their  praises  I  pay  light  regard, 

For  not  as  yet  such  measures  have  I  sung, 
As  speak  a  Varus  or  a  China's  tongue, 
But  goose-like  still  I  tuneless  gabble  on, 
While  near  me  warbles  the  melodious  swan. 

MAERIS. 

It  is  on  that  I  have  been  pondering  long  ; 

Mine,  Lycidas  !  is  no  ignoble  song ; — 

"  Sweet  Galatea !  hither  turn  thy  feet," 

"  What  pleasure  is  there  where  the  billows  beat?" 

"  Here  blossoms  Spring  in  all  her  purple  pride, " 

"  Here  flowers  enamel  all  the  river's  side," 

"  Here  o'er  the  grot  the  snow-white  poplars  spread.'7 

"  And  vines  of  verdure  form  a  grateful  shade," 

II  No  longer  heed  the  stormy  ocean's  roar," 

11  But  let  the  waves  still  idly  wash  the  shore." 

LYCIDAS. 

Those  pleasing  lines,  my  Maeris  !  now  recite, 
I  heard  thee  sing  one  calm  unclouded  night, 
As  lone  thou  gazed  upon  the  silver  moon, 
The  words  I  have  not,  but  I  know  the  tune. 


PASTORALS   OF  VIRGIL.  185 


MAERIS. 


"  Why  dost  thou,  Daphnis  !  trace  the  planets'  rise? 

11  Lo  !  Caesar's  star  illuminates  the  skies, 

u  That  radiant  light  beneath  whose  genial  glow 

11  A  living  beauty  brightens  all  below, 

11  Its  purple  hue  the  rip'ning  grape  assumes, 

"  The  hills  rejoice  and  every  valley  blooms, 

t:  Then  graft  the  vine,  the  fav'ring  hour  employ 

"  The  golden  fruit  thy  children  shall  enjoy" — 

But  I  must  cease,  I  have  forgot  the  lay, 

Oft  in  my  youth  I  sang  the  live-long  day ; 

Time  changes  all ;  the  mem'ry  too  impairs ; 

I  know  not  one  now  of  those  various  airs  ; 

The  voice  itself,  lo  !  Maeris  !  thou  hast  lost, 

Thy  path  the  wolf's  first  darted  glance  hath  crossed  ! 

But  now  no  matter  :  by  his  own  sweet  tongue, 

And  oft  enough  thou'lt  hear  those  numbers  sung. 

LYCIDAS. 

Those  pleas  of  thine  my  painfulness  prolong, 

All  things  around  invite  the  ling' ring  song, 

A  sunny  calmness  on  the  water  lies, 

And  o'er  the  meadow  not  a  zephyr  flies  ; 

One  half  our  way  already  we  have  come, 

Behold  !  beyond  appears  Bianor's  tomb. 

Here  where  the  pruners  trim  the  thick' ning  vine, 

Come  let  us  sit,  and  in  a  chorus  join  ; 

Rest  here  thy  kids,  the  town  we  soon  shall  gain, 

And  tho'  the  night-shades  close  around  in  rain, 

A  song  will  cheer  the  wildness  of  the  road, 

Then  sing  away,  and  I  will  bear  thy  load. 
16* 


18G  PASTORALS   OF   VIRGIL. 

MAERIS. 

Dear  youthful  friend !  thy  soft  persuasions  spare; 
And  let  our  journey  be  our  present  care ; 
When  loved  Menalcas  bless  our  eyes  again, 
With  lighter  heart  I'll  wake  that  lively  strain. 


GALLUS. 

Come,  Arethusa  !  all  thy  succour  lend. 
And  let  at  last  my  weary  labours  end. 
My  Gallus  claims  some  tribute  of  the  Muse, 
Such  as  the  cold  Lycoris  may  peruse. 
Until  her  heart  lament  the  cruel  wrong : 
What  bard  to  Gallus  would  deny  a  song  ? 
So  when  thou  glid'st  beneath  Sicilia's  sea. 
May  no  salt  billow  e'er  embitter  thee. 

While  now  my  herds  enjoy  the  flow'ry  plain, 
To  Gallus'  love  I  wake  the  tender  strain, 
'Tis  not.  however,  to  the  deaf  I  sing, 
The  wilds  around  with  loud  responses  ring ! 

What  lawn,  ye  Nymphs  !  what  forest  caused  your  stay, 

When  crossed  in  love  lone  Gallus  pined  away  ? 

It  was  not  Findus,  nor  the  Phocian  hill, 

Nor  yet  the  waters  of  your  own  sweet  rill. 

For  him  a  gloom  o'er  every  shrub  was  spread, 

For  him  the  laurel  hung  its  lofty  head. 

The  pines  of  Menalua  were  heard  to  moan. 

And  stream.-  of  sorrow  rushed  from  every  rugged  stone. 


PASTORALS   OF    VIRGIL.  187 

While  lone  and  lost,  beneath  a  crag  reclined, 

The  love-lorn  mourner  in  his  anguish  pined. 

As  thus  he  siglrd  his  flocks  around  him  came, 

Blush  not,  sweet  Minstrel !  at  a  shepherd's  name, 

A  rural  life  the  fair  Adonis  led, 

And  by  the  streams  his  fleecy  numbers  fed. 

"With  grief  oppressed  the  shepherds  next  drew  near, 

Around  him  then  the  tardy  swains  appear  ; 

Dripping  with  dews  Menalcas  hastes  along, 

And  sighs  arose  from  all  th'  assembled  throng. 

Appollo  follows,  and  astonished  cries  : 

' '  Thy  love  no  more  shall  bless  thy  longing  eyes ; 

"  Why  then,  my  Grallus  !  should  thy  sorrows  flow  1 

u  O'er  lofty  mountains  of  eternal  snow, 

11  And  thro'  the  horror  of  wild  war's  alarms, 

(:  She  flies  from  thee,  and  seeks  another's  arms  T: 

Adorned  with  wreaths  approached  Silvanus  now, 

Shaking  the  blooming  honours  of  his  brow. 

Next  came  the  God  that  o'er  Arcadia  reigns, 

His  cheeks  all  glowing  with  vermilion  stains  ; 

"  And  when,"  he  cried.  ;;  wilt  thou  this  grief  remove  ! 

l-  Thy  sighs,  thy  tears  will  never  satiate  love, 

1  •  Xo  more  than  honey  will  the  murmuring  bee, 

"  Or  streams  their  banks,  or  goats  the  shadowy  tree." 

The  bard,  o'ercome  by  sorrow's  powerful  stroke, 

In  tears  of  pain  these  mournful  accents  spoke  : 

"  Arcadian  swains  !  in  song  alone  renowned, 

Ye  on  your  hills  my  sorrows  will  resound ; 

Oh  !  with  what  softness  would  my  bones  repose, 

If  ye  would  sing  in  future  hours  my  woes  ! 

0  would  to  heav'n  that  I  were  of  your  stock, 


188  PASTORALS  OF   VIRGIL. 

To  trim  the  vine,  and  tend  the  fleecy  flock  ! 
How  happy  then  would  be  my  days  !  how  blest. 
When  I  would  clasp  my  Phyllis  to  my  breast, 
Or  when  Amyntas  or  one  full  as  fair. 
Would  on  me  smile,  and  banish  every  care. 
And  tho'  in  truth  a  swarthy  boy  is  he, 
Ah  !  would  his  presence  less  delightful  be  1 
Sweet  is  the  Hyacinth,  the  vi'let,  too, 
Yet  each  is  shaded  with  a  sable  hue. 
Beneath  the  willow,  or  the  shady  vine, 
My  loves  and  I  enraptur'd  would  recline, 
And  while  Amyntas  sang  some  pleasing  air, 
With  fitting  flow'rs  would  Phyllis  wreath  my  hair. 
Here,  lovely  Nymph !  are  fountains  cool  and  clear, 
Here,  too,  are  groves,  and  flowery  fields  are  here, 
And  here  would  I,  my  beautiful !  my  own  ! 
Live  on  with  thee  till  life  itself  were  flown. 
I  am  oppressed  by  Love's  resistless  power, 
Where  whistling  darts  in  iron  tempests  show'r, 
While  thou  far  distant  from  thy  native  vale 
(Ah  !  that  my  heart  could  disbelive  the  tale,) 
Forlorn  and  friendless  fliest  from  me  away, 
O'er  stormy  hills  and  dreary  wastes  to  stray. 
From  scenes  so  wild  may'st  thou  no  perils  meet, 
Ah !  spare,  ye  bitter  Frosts  !  those  tender  feet ! 
Now  with  the  lute  of  the  Sicilian  swain, 
To  charm  my  woes  I'll  wake  a  mournful  strain — 
Now  I  would  rather  to  the  wilds  repair, 
And  with  the  beasts  all  toils  and  dangers  share, 
And  write  my  griefs  upon  the  tender  grove  ; 
As  they  would  grow  so  also  should  my  love — 


PAST0RAL3  OP    VI&GIL.  189 

Now  I  would  range  the  rugged  mountains  o'er. 

And  with  the  nymphs  pursue  the  foaming  boar. — 

Now  thro'  the  lawns,  despite  the  freezing  sky. 

With  horns  and  hounds  and  joyous  shout  I  fly — 

In  fancy  now  thro'  sounding  woods  I  go. 

And  wing  the  arrow  from  my  Parthian  bow. 

As  if  this  gave  my  weary  soul  relief, 

Or  love  would  learn  to  mitigate  my  grief — 

Now,  nymphs  !  and  groves  !  and  music's  joyous  swell  ! 

With  all  your  charms  for  evermore,  farewell. 

Ah  !  cruel  Love !  how  vain  is  every  art, 

By  which  we  strive  to  bend  thy  stubborn  heart ! 

Altho'  the  rapid  Hebrus  we  would  drain 

When  o'er  the  world  wild  winter  holds  hi3  reign — 

Altho'  exposed  to  every  storm  that  blows. 

We  would  go  live  amid  Sithonian  snows — 

Altho'  we  left  our  own  beloved  domains, 

To  tend  our  flocks  on  ^Ethiopia's  plains. 

When  the  hot  beams  of  Cancer  burnM  the  skie3, 

And  on  the  elm  the  wither 'd  foliage  dies. 

That  breast  of  stone  we  could  not  hope  to  move — 

Love  conquers  all,  and  we  must  yield  to  love.'' 

Here  stay,  0  muse  !  thy  poet's  tuneful  tongue, 

The  song  suffices  which  he  now  has  sung, 

As  underneath  the  willows  he  reclined, 

And  the  green  branches  into  baskets  twined. 

Thi3  ye  will  aid  with  your  diviner  power, 

And  soothe  the  heart  for  which  my  love  grows  every  hour 

As  the  young  alder  lifts  its  blooming  head, 

When  spring  begins  her  balmy  sweets  to  shed. 


190  PASTORALS  OF    VIRGIL. 

Arise  we  now  :  a  hoarseness  evening  brings 
Upon  the  voice  that  in  its  shadow  sings ; 
Yea.  e'en  the  freshness  of  the  forest  bough, 
Else  so  delightful,  grows  obnoxious  now  ; 
The  shade  is  also  hurtful  to  the  grain, 
And  every  plant  that  beautifies  the  plain. 

Away,  my  goats !  my  well-fed  goats  !  away- 
The  star  of  eve  proclaims  the  close  of  day. 


THE     CATHEMERINON. 


"Remember,  then,  0  Christian !  that  thou  wert  cleansed  and  crown'd, 
With  water,  and  with  unction  poured  on  and  sign'd  around; 
When  weariness  comes  o'er  thee,  and  thou  would'st  sink  to  rest, 
0  mark  the  cross  of  Jesus  upon  thy  brow,  thy  breast ; 
Beneath  it  sin  lies  conquer'd — before  it  demons  quail, 
And  whosoever  bears  it  shall  neither  faint,  nor  fail." 

Cath.  Prud.  Hymn,  €. 


A  BRIEF  ACCOUNT 


rOET,    rRUDEXTU's 


BY   THE    REV.    ALB  AX   Br  TILER. 


Aurelius  Phudestius  Clemens,  the  glory  of  the  anckot 
Christian  poets,  was  born  in  Spain  in  348,  at  Calahorra,  ii  I 
tile.  After  his  childhood  he  studied  eloquence  under  a  celebrated 
rhetorician,  and  according  to  the  customs  of  the  schools  in  that  age, 
learned  to  declaim  upon  all  sorts  of  subjects,  and  by  pleading,  to  make 
a  bad  cause  appear  good  :  which  kiod  of  exercises  he  afterwards  severe- 
ly condemned  und  repented  of,  as  an  art  of  disguising  the  truth  and  of 
lying.  Prudentius  deplores  still  more  bitterly  other  irregularities  into 
which  he  had  been  betrayed  in  'tis  youth.  He  was  made  twice  gov- 
ernor of  provinces  and  cities  in  Spain  :  after  which  he  tells  us  that  the 
elemency  of  the  prince  raised  him  to  the  highest  honours,  and  calling 
him  to  court,  placed  him  in  rank  and  dignity  next  his  own  person  ;  by 
which  is  generally  understood  that  he  was  created  prefect  of  the  pne- 
torium.  In  this  distracted  station  he  suffered  violent  conflicts  in  his 
sag],  being  sometimes  full  of  fervor,  and  earnestly  desiring  to  serve 
God  ;  at  other  times  cooled  by  the  dissipation  of  the  world  and  the  cor- 
ruption of  his  own  heart.  But  when  he  had  devoted  himself  with  his 
whole  soul  to  the  divine  service,  God  became  all  his  joy,  he  found  no 
sweetness  but  in  his  Saviour.  When  he  quitted  his  employments  in 
order  to  renounce  the  world,  in  the  vigor  of  his  age,  he  took  a  journey 
to  Rome  about  the  year  405,  and  passing  through  Imola,  embraced  and 


194  A   BRIEF   ACCOUNT   OF 

watered  with  his  tears  the  tomb  of  .St.  Cassian,  in  bitter  compunction 
for  his  sins.  At  Rome,  he  saw  an  infinite  number  of  tombs  of  martyrs, 
at  which  he  prayed  for  the  healing  of  the  spiritual  wounds  of  his  soul. 
lie  passed  there  the  feast  of  S.  S.  Peter  and  Paul,  and  returning  into 
Spain,  there  led  a  retired  life,  and  consecrated  his  leisure  hours  to  the 
composition  of  sacred  poems  ;  for  he  wrote  only  on  religious  subjects, 
on  which  all  his  thoughts  were  employed.  He  has  always  been  es- 
teemed the  most  learned  of  the  Christian  poets.  Sidonius  Appollinaris, 
compares  his  lyrics  to  the  Odes  of  Horace,  who  is  the  sweetest,  smooth- 
est, most  polished  and  elegant  writer,  not  only  of  the  poets,  but  of  all 
the  classics.  No  verses  in  Horace,  or  any  other  poet,  seem  superior  to 
the  stanzas  which  compose  the  hymns  on  the  Holy  Innocents  in  the  office 
of  the  Church,  which  are  taken  from  Prudentius  on  the  Epiphany 
(Cathemerinon  hymn  12  ;)  nothing  can  be  finer  than  the  similes  and 
other  figures,  "  Salvete  Flores,"  &c.  ;  nothing  softer  or  more  beautiful 
than  the  expressions,  M  Palma  et  coronis  luditis,"  &c.  The  hymns 
"  Nox  et  tenebrae  et  nubila,"  and  "  Lux  ecce  surgitaurea,"  &c.  in  the 
Church  office  are  almost  copied  from  our  poet's  morning  hymn  (Cath. 
bym.  2.)  His  erudition  is  displayed  in  his  books  against  Symmachus  ; 
and  his  genius  shines  in  the  majesty,  fire  and  elegance  of  his  verses, 
especially  his  lyrics. 

Prudentius  in  his  Psycomachia,  or  combat  of  the  soul  against  vice, 
celebrates  the  victory  of  faith  over  infidelity,  of  purity  over  lust,  of  pa- 
tience over  anger,  of  humility  over  pride,  of  temperance  over  gluttony, 
of  alms-deeds  over  covetousness,  and  of  concord  over  enmity.  His 
Cathemerinon  (or  book  of  hymns  for  every  day)  consists  of  hymns  of 
prayer  and  praise  for  different  times  of  the  day,  viz.  for  morning,  night, 
before  and  after  meals,  fast  days,  after  fast  days,  for  Christmas,  Epipha- 
ny, the  lighting  of  the  Pascal  candle,  funerals,  &c.  Apotheoses  is  the 
title  which  Prudentius  gives  to  his  poem  in  defence  of  the  Deity  and 
the  divine  attributes.  It  is  a  confutation  of  the  Idolators  and  of  the 
principal  heresies  which  erred  chiefly  concerning  the  Godhead,  Christ 
and  the  Resurrection.  Against  the  Marcionites  who  established  an  evil 
iirst  principle  he  composed  his  Amartigenis,  or  book  on  the  birth  or 
origin  of  sin,  which  he  shows  to  spring  from  the  perversity  of  the  will 
of  a  free  creature.  In  the  close  of  this  book  he  makes  an  humble  con- 
fession that  he  deserved  all  manner  of  chastisements  from  a  just  Gcd, 
and  earnestly  prays  for  merry,  and  that  while  others  are  called  on  high 
to  crowns  of  glory,  he  may  be  purified  by  the  mildest  punishment. 


TIIE   POET   PRUDEXTIUS.  195 

Another  work  of  Prudentius  is  hid  book  "Peristephanon,"  or  "Crowns 
of  Martyrs"  consisting  of  fourteen  hymns.  Le  Clerc,  the  learned  French 
Protestant  critic,  makes  the  following  observations  on  this  work:  "  It 
clearly  appears  from  several  places  in  these  hymns,  that  Christians 
prayed  to  martyrs  at  that  time,  and  believed  that  they  were  appointed 
patrons  of  some  places  by  God.  Certain  Protestant  writers,  who  fan- 
cy that  the  traditions  of  the  four  or  five  first  centuries  ought  to  be  join- 
ed with  the  scripture,  have  denied  that  the  saints  were  prayed  to  in  the 
fourth  century.  But  they  should  not  have  framed  a  notional  system  be- 
fore they  were  well  instructed  in  facts,  since  they  may  be  convinced  of 
this  by  several  pieces  out  of  Prudentius  ;  thus,  in  the  first  hymn  of  the 
Peristaphanon  which  is  in  praise  of  two  martyrs  of  Calahorra,  he  says  : 

With  many  a  voice  and  prayer  and  gift  shall  Pilgrims  hither  throng, 

The  people  of  the  farthest  lands  shall  crowding  haste  along  ; 

For  fame  shall  fly  thro'  all  the  sphere  and  shouting  loud  shall  say, 

Here  dwell  the  patrons  of  the  world  to  whom  all  hearts  should  pray. 

And  none  shall  supplicate  in  vain  at  either  hallowed  urn, 

But  all  shall  wipe  their  tears  away  and  home  rejoiced  return. 

Each  gift  that  shall  be  rightly  sought  the  suppliant  band  shall  share, 

For  mankind's  wants  have  ever  been  the  saints'  peculiar  care. 

They  suffer  not  the  slightest  word  to  pass  unheeded  by, 

But  forthwith  waft  it  unto  him  who  rules  the  earth  and  sky, 

Then  come  to  man  heaven's  goodly  gifts  in  many  a  plenteous  flow, 

A  rich  redress  for  every  want,  a  balm  for  every  woe. 

"  Those  who  desire  more  proofs,"  says  Le  Clerc,  need  only  read 
others  of  those  hymns.  The  works  of  St.  Paulenus,  St.  Ambrose,  St. 
Jerome,  St.  Austin,  St.  Basil,  St.  Chrysostom,  &c.  demonstrate  this  to 
have  been  the  doctrine  and  practice  of  the  church  in  the  fourth  and  fifth 
centuries.  Le  Clerc  also  takes  notice  that  Prudentius  complains  that 
time  and  the  malice  of  the  idolaters  had  destroyed  abundance  of  acts  of 
martyrs,  and  that  he  testifies  Rome  was  full  of  martyrs'  tombs.  The 
same  critic  observes  that  the  custom  of  filling  churches  with  images  was 
practised  in  Italy,  in  Prudentius'  time,  as  is  clear  from  his  hymn  on  St. 
Cassian.  On  this  latter  Le  Clerc  makes  the  following  remark  :  "  It 
ought  to  be  observed  that  upon  that  grave  there  was  a  table  or  an  altar 
on  which  they  celebrated  the  Euchairist,  so  that  the  image  was  placed 
precisely  upon  the  altar  where  they  are  wont  to  place  images  now  in 
the  Church  of  Rome." 


196  A  BRIEF  ACCOUNT,    AC. 

Prudentius  mentions  with  great  respect  the  sign  of  the  Cross,  the  fre- 
quent use  of  which  he  strongly  recommends  as  chasing  away  infernal 
spirits.  In  describing  the  Labarum,  or  military  ensign  instituted  by 
(  onstantine,  he  mentions  that  a  cross  was  wrought  in  the  banner,  or 
painted  upon  the  flag  or  streamer,  and  also  that  a  figure  of  the  cross  in 
holid  gold  was  set  upon  the  shaft. 

In  the  poems  of  Prudentius,  the  most  perfect  sentiments  of  Christian 
virtue  are  expressed.  Erasmus  declares  that  for  the  sanctity  and  sacred 
erudition  which  are  displayed  in  his  writings,  he  deserves  to  be  ranked 
among  the  gravest  doctors  of  the  Church.  Prudentius  wrote  his  Cath- 
emerinon  in  his  fifty-seventh  year,  as  he  declares  in  his  preface.  Some 
ecclesiastical  writers  give  him  the  title  of  saint,  but  his  name  occurs  not 
in  the  Martyrologies. 


THE   CATHEMERIXON 


CHANTICLEER. 

The  winged  messenger  of  day 

Proclaims  the  radiant  morning  near, 
And  lo!  the  Life,  the  Truth,  the  Way, 

Thus  warns  aloud  each  slurnb'rer  s  ear  : 
11  Haste  from  the  downy  pillow,  haste, 

Ye  drowsy,  ye  inactive  band  ! 
And  be  ye  sober,  righteous,  chaste, 

Behold,  your  Saviour  is  at  hand." 
Ii  is  too  late  to  rise  when  light 

Is  gladd'ning  all  the  earth  and  air  ; 
The  Lord  is  also  Lord  of  night, 

Which  claims  an  equal  part  in  prayer. 
That  clarion  echoing  thro'  the  sky, 

Ere  morning's  glories  burst  abroad, 
Bidding  the  birds  from  slumber  fly, 

Is  a  true  emblem  of  our  God. 
While  sleep  thus  binds  each  anxious  breast. 

And  nightly  shadows  cloud  the  eye, 
He  bids  us  spurn  inglorious  rest, 

For  now  his  day  of  bliss  is  nigh. 

When  morning  lights  with  ruddy  glare 

The  beauteous  blue  etherial  space, 
17* 


198  TUE   CATHEMERINON. 

Thus  found  in  works  of  praise  and  prayer, 

We  will  receive  his  heav'nly  grace. 
The  sleep  thus  giv'n  us  for  a  time 

Is  pallid  Death's  dull  image  deep  ; 
The  night  pourtrays  the  reign  of  crime 

In  which  frail  mortals  often  sleep. 
The  voice  of  Christ  doth  now  forewarn 

From  his  eternal  place  on  high. 
That  now  'tis  Grace's  hallowed  morn. 

When  every  shadowy  fear  must  fly. 
So  when  our  final  sleep  is  near, 

And  fleeting  life  flies  fast  away, 
The  faithful  soul  shall  know  no  fear, 

But  humbly  hope  Salvation's  day. 
Roused  by  this  bird's  loud  clarion  shrill, 

The  wand'ring  phantoms  of  the  night, 
From  mountain,  valley,  wood  and  hill, 

Prepare  to  take  their  sudden  flight. 

Of  light,  of  beauty  and  of  power 

The  near  approach  the  dawning  ray, 
Bursting  thro'  night's  mysterious  hour, 

Drives  far  each  airy  form  away. 
It  is  a  sign,  they  doubtless  know, 

Of  holy  hope  to  mortals  giv'n, 
That  banishes  each  thought  of  woe. 

And  figures  forth  the  bliss  of  heav'n. 
Once  did  our  loving  Lord  proclaim 

The  wondrous  pow'r  which  filled  this  bird, 
When  Peter  thrice  denied  his  name, 

Ere  twice  the  startling  sound  was  heard. 


THE    CATHEMERIXON.  199 

But  frail  was  Simon  and  his  kind 

Before  the  light  of  life  arose 
To  chase  the  gloom  from  man's  dark  mind. 

And  bid  the  reign  of  evil  close. 
Yet  quickly  did  he  mourn  in  pain 

That  deed  of  error  and  of  ill, 
For  he  would  love  his  Lord  again 

And  be  the  fond  and  faithful  still : 

And  never,  never  was  he  found 

To  speak  again  so  weak  a  word  ; 
Rememb'ring  still  that  warning  sound, 

He  ever  more  confessed  his  Lord. 
Thence  is  it  deemed  by  good  and  wise, 

That  in  the  hour  of  peace  and  gloom, 
When  Chanticleer  salutes  the  skies 

Rose  Christ  triumphant  from  the  tomb. 
Then  was  subdued  death's  iron  sway, 

The  ruthless  reign  of  hell  was  o'er; 
Then  dawned  for  man  a  brighter  day, 

And  ancient  rites  were  found  no  more. 
Vanish  now  every  idle  thought, 

Be  lulled  to  sleep  each  deed  of  guile, 
And  let  all  crime,  now  overwrought, 

Be  hushed  to  gentlest  rest  the  while. 
Whatever  time  is  yet  to  roll 

Ere  darts  on  high  the  morning  ray, 
0  let  in  turn  the  watchful  soul, 

Go  gather  flow'rs  in  virtue's  way. 

Let  us  invoke  the  Lord  of  all 

With  pray'rs,  with  fasts,  with  many  a  tear ; 


200  THE    CATHEMERIXON. 

Th'  impassioned  spirit's  powerful  call, 

Will  let  no  peril  e'er  come  near. 
Enough  for  weary  mortals'  wants, 

Hath  sleep's  oblivion  steeped  the  brain 
Rising  no  more  o'er  wonted  haunts 

But  grasping,  wild,  at  visions  vain, 
Of  which  full  many  a  fruitless  one 

Floats  'round  us  in  our  midnight  dreams ; 
Awake,  then, — watch  the  morning  sun, 

For  truth  returneth  with  his  beams. 
Riches  and  happiness,  and  rest, 

And  titles,  honours,  and  delight, 
Whatever  then  beguiles  the  breast, 

When  daylight  dawns,  all  vanish  quite. 
Break  thou,  0  Christ !  our  sinful  chains, 

And  bid  our  slumbers  all  depart, 
Wash  us  still  more  from  former  stains, 

And  pour  thy  grace  thro'  every  heart. 


MORNING. 

0  FLY,  ye  gloomy  shades  of  night  ! 

Ye  mists  that  darken  all  things,  fly  ! 
The  day  breaks  forth — the  sky  grows  bright, 

And  lo  !  the  Saviour,  Christ  is  nigh. 
The  darkness  leaves  this  earthly  scene, 

Before  the  bright  approach  of  day, 
And  nature  once  again  looks  green, 

Beneath  the  sun's  enlivening  ray. 


THE    CATHEMEPJXOX.  201 

From  every  rice — from  every  crime — 

From  wretched  mortal's  every  stain 
Thus  shall  depart  the  mists  of  time, 

"When  Christ,  the  judge,  shall  come  again. 
No  power  shall  then  remove  from  sight 

The  secret  workings  of  the  mind, 
For  judgment  shall  in  noonday  light 

Expose  them  clear  to  all  mankind ; 
His  way  of  ill  the  thief  begins 

When  shades  of  evening  '"round  him  fall. 
But  morn  that  hates  his  secret  sins, 

Betrays  his  wicked  course  to  all. 
Injustice,  wily  and  untrue, 

Exerts  thro'  night  her  fraudful  pow'r  ; 
The  lustful  heart  rejoices,  too, 

In  the  deep  gloom  of  midnight's  hour. 
But  when  bursts  forth  the  golden  day, 

The  sinner  blushes,  weeps,  and  pines ; 
None  may  pursue  their  evil  way, 

"When  daylight's  glory  'round  them  shines. 

When  reason  hath  resumed  her  pow'r, 

And  holy  thoughts  come  o'er  the  soul, 
Who  does  not  weep,  in  morning's  hour, 

His  late  wild  love  of  wassail-bowl  ? 
Then  let  us  live  as  we  would  die, 

And  let  no  evil  thought  have  sway, 
And  if  the  past  went  idly  by, 

Be  better  spent  each  coming  day. 
This  is  the  hour  for  every  sphere — 

For  every  work  of  hand  and  brain — 


202  THE   CATHEMERINON. 

The  artizan,  the  merchant,  peer, 

The  noble  chief — the  rural  swain. 
One  glories  in  forensic  strife — 

Another  loves  the  martial  strain — 
The  merchant,  peasant — lavish  life, 

In  the  pursuit  of  greedy  gain. 
But  we  in  eloquence  unskilled, 

To  gold  and  guile  alike  unknown, 
Untutored  to  the  warlike  field, 

Seek  thee,  0  Lord  !  and  thee  alone. 
In  purity  we  come  to  Thee, 

With  tuneful  voice  and  holy  lay, 
We  suppliant  bend  an  humble  knee, 

And  singing  weep,  and  weeping  pray. 
In  works  like  these  is  all  our  joy — 

Such  is  the  wealth  our  spirits  prize, 
And  we  begin  our  blest  employ, 

When  the  bright  sun  first  gilds  the  skies. 

Then  listen  to  our  humble  pray'r  ! 

0  make  each  heart  of  darkness,  bright ; 
Full  many  a  gloomy  shade  is  there 

To  be  illumined  by  thy  light. 
Wash  thou  each  trace  of  sin  away, 

And  make  us  all  as  pure  again, 
As  we  were  on  that  happy  day, 

When  we  were  cleansed  from  every  stain. 
Whatc'cr  this  cloudy  vale  of  tears, 

May  henceforth  shadow  with  its  gloom, 
Do  thou,  King  of  the  starry  spheres ! 

With  thy  bright  countenance  illume. 


THE   CATHEMERIXOX.  203 

And  now  may  all  those  shades  depart. 

Which  kept  us  from  the  light  so  long, 
And  drew  aside  the  wayward  heart. 

To  many  a  path  of  shame  and  wrong. 
Sweet  may  the  morn  upon  us  smile. 

May  every  soul  be  bright  and  pure, 
Far  from  our  bosoms  be  all  guile. 

And  may  no  cloud  our  lives  obscure. 
There  is  a  Power  enthroned  on  high. 

Who.  from  the  dawn  till  close  of  day, 
Scans  every  heart  with  searching  eye. 

And  follows  man  thro"  every  way  : 
All  things  are  under  his  controul, 

He  knows  whatever  men  pursue, 
The  very  secrets  of  the  soul, 

And  nothing  can  escape  his  view. 


BEFORE    MEAT. 

O  Lord  of  light !  0  Crucified  ! 

Maker  of  all  !  God's  only  Son  ! 
Born  of  a  sacred  Virgin  Bride, 

Yet  reigning  with  th'  Eternal  One, 
Ere  sprang  the  earth,  the  stars,  or  sea  ! 

Look  down,  we  pray,  with  love  divine, 
And  turn  to  us  a  pitying  eye  ; 

Light  us  with  that  sweet  face  of  thine, 
While  we  invoke  thy  name  so  high, 

And  take  our  food,  adoring  Thee. 


204  THE   CATHEMERINON. 

There  is  no  charm  without  thee,  Lord ! 

And  nothing  we  receive  is  sweet 
Unless  thy  vivifying  word 

Impart  a  blessing  to  our  meat, 
And  faith  bestow  its  succor  too  : 

Thou  should' st  behold  our  humble  fare, 
And  pour  thy  favor  o'er  the  board  ; 

Thou  should'st  attend,  with  guardian  care. 
Our  toil,  our  rest,  each  thought,  each  word, 

And  all  we  are,  and  all  we  do. 

Here  be  no  spoils  of  rosy  flow'rs, 

No  aromatic  odor's  breath, 
But  let  that  heav'nly  grace  be  ours, 

Winch  sheds  around  the  sweets  of  faith, 
Sent  from  our  gracious  Father  down ; 

The  muse,  then,  spurns  that  wreath  profane 
Which  decks  the  poet's  worldly  lays, 

And  raising  now  a  holy  strain 
Devoted  to  her  Maker's  praise, 

Weaves  for  herself  a  fadeless  crown. 

And  0,  what  could  the  soul  set  forth, 

That  radiant  child  of  hope  and  heav'n  ! 
More  worthy  of  her  power  and  worth 

Than  the  bright  gifts  which  God  hath  giv'n  ? 
Then  pour,  my  soul  !  thy  song  abroad : 

On  man  the  Lord  hath  lavished  all : 
"Man's  is  a  bright  and  boundless  reign  : 

Whatever  fills  the  world's  vast  ball, 
The  sky,  the  river,  and  the  main, 

All  arc  for  man.  as  man  for  God. 


THE   CATHEMERIXON.  205 

The  feather' d  tribes  he  captures  now, 

By  secret  gin  or  circling  snare. 
And  now  does  he  with  baited  bough, 

Impede  those  messengers  of  air, 
And  brings  them  down  to  serve  his  state  ; 

With  nets  he  takes  the  finny  breed, 
Wide  wand' ring  thro'  their  wat'ry  way, 

And  now  again  his  dancing  reed 
Gives  them  to  hidden  hooks  a  prey, 

Deluded  by  the  tempting  bait 

Rich  in  her  stores  of  varied  worth 

Earth  pours  him  out  unbounded  wealth  ; 
For  him  her  countless  vines  burst  forth 

In  all  the  vernal  bloom  of  health, 
With  olives,  too,  the  boughs  of  peace. 

What  other  gifts  should  we  require  1 
Will  these  not  amply  grace  our  feasts  ? 

Away,  then,  with,  that  fell  desire, 
Which  seeks  the  flesh  of  slaughtered  beasts 

To  make  their  luxuries  increase. 

Such  banquets  for  those  nations  be 

Who  glory  in  their  deeds  of  blood ; 
The  fitter  fruits  of  field  and  tree 

Shall  always  constitute  our  food, 
And  spread  for  us  a  harmless  board  ; 

The  milk-pale  foaming  white  as  snow, 
Shall  still  bestow  its  creamy  boon, 

Which  thro'  the  runnet  still  shall  flow, 
To  curdle  into  cheese-cakes  soon, 

While  in  the  vat  the  whey  is  poured. 


206  THE   CATHEMERINON. 

The  honey-comb  shall  feed  us,  too, 

Breathing  its  fragrance  fresh  and  free. 
Made  of  sweet  thyme  and  morning  dew, 

The  labour  of  the  murmuring  bee, 
Unconscious  of  conjugal  tie ; 

And  ripened  fruits  are  ever  found 
Upon  their  still  unfailing  trees, 

Which  shaken  strew  in  showers  the  ground, 
And  gladden  every  eye  that  sees 

The  laughing  piles  that  'round  them  lie  ! 

What  trump  or  harp  of  ancient  days 

With  all  the  glory  which  they  claim, 
Could  celebrate,  with  fitting  praise, 

The  wonders  of  Jehovah's  name, 
Or  all  the  gifts  he  gave  to  clay  ? 

At  early  dawn — in  noontide's  glare — 
When  day  is  sinking  in  the  west, 

And  calls  us  to  our  homely  fare, 
0  heav'nly  Father,  highest,  best ! 

To  thee  shall  rise  our  grateful  lay. 

Whatever  feels  the  secret  breast — 

Whatever  knows  the  hidden  vein — 
Whatever  tongue  hath  yet  expressed — 

Let  all  conspire — awake  the  strain, 
And  sing  high  praise  to  Thee  above. 

Man  didst  thou  form  from  out  the  earth, 
And  stamp'd  him  with  thine  image  bright : 

Thou  gav'st  to  him  a  Godlike  birth, 
By  pouring  in  him  life  and  light, 

A  soul  and  sense  to  own  thy  love. 


THE   CATHEMERINON.  207 

Thou  placed'st  him  in  a  blissful  ground 

Of  mossy  founts  and  green  retreats, 
Where  spring  for  ever  warbled  'round 

O'er  meadows  of  a  myriad  sweets, 
And  a  bright  stream  flowed  murmuring  by. 

"  All  these,"  thou  said'st,  "  shall  now  be  thine ;" 
"  I  give  them  freely  to  thy  hands," 

11  Save  one  alone  which  yet  is  mine," 
"  There  in  the  midst,  behold  !  it  stands ;" 

"  Touch  it  not  or  thou' It  surely  die." 

Then  did  the  wily  tempter  first 

Beguile  the  wayward  woman's  heart ; 
She  took  from  him  that  fruit  accursed, 

Gave  to  her  hapless  spouse  a  part, 
And  ruined  both  in  one  dread  fall : 

Full  soon  did  they  behold  their  crime, 
And  soon,  too  soon  they  knew  their  shame ; 

Loud  wailed  they  then  their  vanished  prime, 
And  sought  to  clothe  each  naked  frame 

With  leaves  plucked  by  the  neighb'ring  wall. 

Now  punished  for  a  sin  so  great, 

Must  both  depart  from  Eden's  bow'r ; 
The  woman,  free  from  bonds  of  late, 

Must  live  beneath  her  husband's  power, 
And  bear  thro'  life  that  grief  of  soul ; 

The  author  of  that  dreadful  deed, 
The  lying  serpent,  suffers  sore, 

Bruised,  hated  by  the  woman's  seed, 
And  placed  beneath  her  evermore, 

As  she  herself  'neath  man's  control. 


208  THE   CATHEMERINOX. 

Our  hapless  race,  thus  led  astray, 

Rushed  headlong  since  that  fatal  time  ; 
We  still  pursue  our  parents'  way, 

Keep  ever  adding  crime  to  crime, 
Till  death  unites  us  to  his  train  ; 

From  out  the  gloom  meanwhile  there  burst 
Another  man  from  out  the  skies, 

Not  filled  with  errors,  like  the  first, 
But  God  himself  in  mortal  guize, 

Yet  free  from  every  mortal  stain. 

Unknown  to  man's  profane  embrace, 

But  overshadowed  by  the  Lord, 
A  lovely  virgin  full  of  grace 

Brings  forth  in  flesh  th'  Eternal  "Word, 
And  fills  the  world  with  joy  and  light. 

From  this  mysterious  birth  began 
That  lasting  hate  and  warfare  dread 

Between  man's  enemy  and  man, 
For  bruised  was  now  the  Serpent's  head 

Beneath  the  woman's  conquering  might. 

That  Virgin  Mother  of  our  God, 

Frustrated  all  that  demon's  wile, 
Who  now  pours  forth  upon  the  clod, 

The  harmless  venom  of  his  guile, 
And  vainly  rolls  in  many  a  spire. 

Where  is  the  phrenzy  now  so  mad 
As  dares  to  touch  the  Saviour's  fold  ! 

The  rabid  wolf  roams  'round  it,  sad, 
But  seeks  not,  as  he  did  of  old, 

The  victims  of  his  vanquished  iro. 


THE   CATHEMERIXOX.  209 

The  Lamb  has  crushed  the  Lion's  might ; 

And,  thro'  the  gloomy  clouds  and  skies, 
The  eagle  fierce,  in  rapid  flight, 

Before  the  dove  affrighted  flies, 
For  former  things  have  passed  away  ; 

Be  thou;  then,  Christ !  our  powerful  Dove, 
Before  whom  shall  the  vulture  flee, 

And  be  thou,  too,  our  Lamb  of  Love, 
From  hungry  wolves  thy  fold  to  free, 

And  make  them  all  confess  thy  sway. 

0  lend  thine  ear,  thou  bounteous  Lord, 

To  this  thy  servants'  humble  pray'r ; 
Bid  us  go  forward  from  our  board, 

Contented  with  its  slender  fare, 
Forgetting  all  excesses  vain  ; 

Far  from  us  drive  the  pois'nous  bowl, 
"With  all  things  hateful  in  thy  sight ; 

Our  appetite  itself  controul, 
And  keep  man's  system  still  aright, 

That  health  and  vigour  may  remain. 

It  is  enough  that  once  our  foe 

Deceived  us  with  that  dread  repast, 
Which  doomed  us  all  to  chains  and  woe, 

And  hurried  to  the  grave  at  last 
The  labour  of  the  hand  divine ; 

The  soul,  that  offspring  of  the  light, 
Shall  never  fade  away  and  die ; 

Immortal,  and  for  ever  bright, 
It  draws  its  lustre  from  on  hmh, 

And  thro'  eternity  shall  shine. 


210  THE   CATHEMERINON. 

There  is  a  season  yet  to  come, 

"When  the  cold  bones  shall  also  warm. 
And,  rising  from  the  dreary  tomb, 

Again  possess  their  ancient  form, 
Spurning  the  sepulchre's  deep  night ; 

Yes,  we  believe,  nor  vain  our  faith. 
The  body,  like  the  soul,  shall  rise ; 

So  God  incarnate  rose  from  death. 
And  soared  beyond  the  starry  skies, 

With  myriads  heralding  his  flight. 
May  such  bright  lot  be  waiting  me, 
When  in  the  tomb  embalmed  I  rest. 

Till  I,  like  Him,  be,  too,  set  free, 
And.  crowned  in  glory  with  the  blest, 

Shall  live  for  evermore  in  light. 


AFTER  MEAT. 

"Now  rising  with  thanks  from  the  bountiful  board. 
In  strength  reinstated,  in  spirits  restored, 
Come,  let  us  sing  praise  to  our  Master  on  high. 
Who  sitteth  supremely  and  ruleth  alone, 
High  over  the  Cherub's  and  Seraph's  bright  throne, 
Ynd  holdeth  his  sway  o'er  the  earth  and  the  sky. 

'Tis  He  whom  the  God  of  Sabbaoth  we  call 
The  Maker  of  earth,  the  Creator  of  all, 
With  whom  no  beginning,  no  end  hath  a  place ; 
The  giver  of  Faith  and  of  Hope  and  of  Love. 


THE   CATHEMEPJKOX.  211 

The  source  of  that  Light  which  descends  from  above. 
The  Conquerer  of  Death,  and  the  Author  of  Grace. 

All  cometh  from  Thee — all  is  thine  that  we  boast. 
0  great  Three  in  One.  Father  !  Son  !  Holy  Ghost, 
"Who  proceed' st  at  the  same  time  from  Father  and  Son ! 
Thy  spirit,  0  God  !  dwells  in  Chastity's  breast 
"Which  quickly  is  known  as  the  place  of  thy  rest.    * 
By  the  rapture  it  shows  in  the  guest  it  has  won. 

But  if  ought  should  arise  or  impure  or  profane. 
To  dim  the  soul's  lustre  with  criminal  stain. 
That  spirit  will  fly  from  the  desolate  shrine  : 
For  the  shadow  of  death  which  is  fro-w  ning  within, 
Has  darkened  the  dwelling — resigned  it  to  sin. 
And  drives  far  away  all  that  radiance  divine. 

Yet,  never  hath  Purity  wholly  sufficed. 
To  build  up  a  sanctuary  pleasing  to  Christ, 
Within  the  still  temple  prepared  in  the  heart ; 
The  appetite's  rage  we  must  also  repress. 
Which  ever  evermore  when  indulged  to  exoc  - 
Will  lessen  man's  fervor,  and  make  it  depart. 

With  slender  refection  the  well-ordered  brea?t 
Much  better  receiveth  the  Lord  for  its  go 
That  Meat,  and  that  Drink,  and  that  Life  of  the  soul ! 
Do  thou,  then,  0  God  !  in  thy  goodness  renew 
Not  only  the  body's,  but  spirit's  strength,  too, 
And  with  thy  kind  providence  corufort  the  whole. 

With  many  a  solace  and  plentiful  store 

'Twas  thus  that  thou  gladdest  the  prophet  of  yore, 


212  THE    CATHEMERINON. 

Whose  body  was  thrown  to  the  wild  beasts  a  prey ; 
Commanded  to  worship  man's  idol  so  vain, 
With  scorn  did  he  spurn  it  again  and  again, 
And  would  not  the  law  of  the  heathen  obey. 

'Twas  Babylon's  tyrant,  the  blind  and  the  proud, 
And  Babylon's  wicked  and  merciless  crowd, 
That  east  him  thus  forth  to  the  lion's  red  rage ; 
But  Faith  of  the  just !  what  a  buckler  art  thou  ! 
The  wild  beasts,  all  conquered,  are  fondling  him  now, 
And  tremble  to  injure  the  heav'n-guarded  sage. 

With  manes  gently  flowing,  around  him  they  stand, 
With  wrath  all  forgotten — with  visage  all  bland — 
And  fawn  all  upon  him,  and  fondle  him  all ; 
And  when  to  the  skies  he  now  lifts  up  his  hands, 
In  search  of  that  succor  his  weakness  demands, 
The  God  who  still  guards  him  attends  to  his  call. 

To  solace  the  heart  which  adversity  tries, 
Lo  !  suddenly  darting  adown  the  glad  skies 
A  messenger  swiftly  descends  to  the  plain ; 
For  the  angel  beheld  from  afar  the  light  fare, 
Which  Habaccuc,  the  good  prophet's  kindliest  care, 
Bore  forth  to  give  joy  to  the  husbandman's  pain. 

That  messenger  seizing  him  fast  by  the  hair, 
Swift  bore  him  away  thro'  the  midst  of  the  air, 
E'en  thus  as  he  was  with  his  hanapurs  fraught ; 
The  prophet,  thus  wondrously  wafted  away, 
Soon  stood  o'er  the  place  where  the  lions  still  lay, 
And  offered  to  Daniel  the  burden  he  brought. 


THE   CATHEMERIXOX.  213 

11  0  take,"  he  exclaimed,  "  take  thou  joyful  and  free, 
The  gifts  which  miraculously  come  now  to  thee, 
That  God  by  his  ministering  angel  hath  giv'n :" 
Then  Daniel  ate,  grateful,  and  when  he  had  ceased, 
Refreshed  and  restored  by  the  wonderful  feast, 
Uplifted  his  eyes,  and  gave  thanks  to  high  heav'n. 

0  Thou,  whose  munificence  fills  earth  and  air  ! 

We,  too,  give  thee  thanks  for  the  blessings  we  share. 

And  shout  out  thy  praise  in  a  rapturous  lay  ; 

Enclosed  as  we  are  in  this  prison  below, 

And  ever  beset  by  the  treacherous  foe, 

Still  guide  us,  and  drive  the  Destroyer  away  ; 

"Who  goeth  about  in  his  pitiless  power. 

Still  seeking  some  prey  for  his  fangs  to  devour, 

Since  only  to  thee  all  our  wishes  ascend  ; 

We  are  harassed,  pursued,  we  are  driv'n  to  distress. 

They  hate  us,  consume  us,  oppose  and  oppress  ; 

Thus  virtue  must  ever  with  trials  contend. 

Yet  comes  there  a  balm  for  our  sorrows  at  length, 
Heav'n  showers  down  a  food  to  restore  us  to  strength. 

c 

And  the  lion  no  longer  appears  in  his  ire ; 
Whoever  prepares  to  partake  of  that  meat, 
Will  never  know  want,  but  may  sumptuously  eat, 
And  satisfy  fully  each  craving  desire. 

Refreshed  by  his  Maker's  beneficent  hand, 
He  shall  take  of  the  food  of  that  dutiful  band. 
Wno  reap  the  full  harvest  of  bliss  with  their  Head  : 
0  nought  is  so  gladd'ning,  so  savoury  and  sweet, 


-14  THE   CATHEMERINON. 

So  full  of  true  solace,  with  joy  so  replete, 

As  the  comfort  that  comes  from  that  life-giving  Bread. 

Thus  fed,  though  oppression  exert  all  its  sway  3 
And  strive  to  condemn  us,  and  put  us  away, 
We  fear  not  the  threats  of  our  enemy's  roar  : 
Confessing  the  Father  throughout  all  our  days, 
To  thee,  Christ  our  God,  we  will  also  give  praise, 
And  carry  thy  cross  evermore,  evermore. 


HYMN. 


{At  the  lighting  of  the  Paschal  Candle.) 

0  thou  Creator  of  the  radiant  light  ! 
With  grateful  change  dividing  day  and  night, 
The  sun  is  set,  and  darkness  clouds  the  poles, 
Tour  forth  thy  radiance  o'er  thy  servants'  souls. 
With  many  a  star  tho'  thou  hast  deck'd  the  sky, 
And  hade  the  moon's  pale  lustre  shine  on  high, 
Yet  hast  thou  also  to  thy  children  shown 
How  light  may  sparkle  from  the  flinty  stone. 
And  this,  0  God  !  thou  gav'st  us  as  a  sign, 
That  all  mankind  should  seek  that  light  divine, 
Which  breaks  from  Jesus  and  hath  ever  broke, 
That  solid  rock  of  which  th'  Apostle  spoke. 
That  we  might  also  strive  for  that  reward, 
Which  is  the  promise  of  our  loving  Lord, 
That  mountain  stone  from  which  each  kindly  ray 
Descends  to  light  those  gloomy  hearts  of  clay. 


THE    CATHEMEREN'OX.  215 

From  out  the  oil  our  lights  we  fashion  now, — 

Now  form  we  flambeaus  from  the  withered  bough. — 

And  other  torches  we  again  contrive, 

From  soft  wax  gather'd  from  the  honied  hive. 

"Whether  the  lamp  thus  nourishes  its  thread, 

Or  o'er  the  wick  the  shining  wax  is  spread, 

Or  the  pitch  pine  its  aliment  bestows 

Refulgent  still  the  varied  lustre  glows. 

The  heated  substance  from  its  blazing  top, 

In  gentle  current  streams  down  drop  by  drop : 

Th'  unfailing  fervour  with  its  fiery  glow, 

Beats  on  it  warm  and  bids  the  liquid  flow. 
Thus  by  thy  bounty,  mighty  Lord  of  all ! 

In  streams  of  light  shines  out  the  festal  hall : 

The  matchless  radiance  emulates  the  day, 

And  darkness  flies  before  the  blaze  away. 
But  who  perceives  not  that  the  true  light's  course 
Is  from  the  Lord  who  is  alone  its  source  ? 
That  glorious  Source  'twas  Moses'  lot  to  see. 
When  all  its  splendour  lit  the  burning  tree. 
Blest  was  the  man,  who  with  those  shoes  unbound, 
Which  otherwise  should  stain  the  hallowed  ground, 
Was  thus  ordained  to  see,  in  that  bright  flame, 
The  pow'r  whose  glory  fills  th5  etherial  frame  ! 
Long  doomed  to  wail  beneath  a  tyrant's  sway, 
But  wand' ring  now  along  their  desert  way, 
Safe  in  the  merits  of  their  faithful  Sire, 
God's  chosen  people  followed  that  pure  fire. 
While  thro'  the  waste  the  weary  exiles  strayed, 
Bearing  their  camps  beneath  the  midnight  shade, 
Bright  as  the  day  that  mystic  pillar  shone, 


216  THE   CATIIEMEMXOX. 

And  led  the  children  of  the  Promise  on. 

The  blinded  So v' reign  of  tlr  Eyptian  land, 

Summons  together  all  his  warrior  band, 

In  flying  cohorts  forms  the  dread  array, 

And  bids  the  brazen  trumpet  londly  bray. 

The  sword  is  seized — the  soldiers  quickly  arm, 

The  blast  of  war  pours  forth  its  wild  alarm  ; 

There,  one  is  brandishing  the  deathful  spear, 

Another  fits  the  Gnossian  arrow  here. 

In  compact  close  now  march  the  warlike  force, 

And  some  ascend  the  car,  some  mount  the  horse ; 

The  waving  banners  to  the  breezes  stream, 

And  Gorgons,  dreadful,  from  the  foldings  gleam. 

A  day  of  rest,  meanwhile,  glads  Israel's  train, 

Released  at  length  from  Egypt's  hostile  chain, 

Wearied  and  worn  they  gain'd  the  red  sea's  side, 

And  sate  them  down  along  the  waters  wide. 

But  when  anon  the  foe  approached  the  bank, 

Bringing  down  war  in  many  a  serried  rank, 

Forthwith  did  Moses  bid  his  people  flee, 

And  with  firm  foot  move  onward  thro'  the  sea, 

Full  in  the  vision  of  that  foe  accursed, 

From  either  side  the  rolling  billows  burst, 

And  here  and  there  a  wall  of  water  stands, 

While  thro'  the  chasm  move  o'er  the  Jewish  bands. 

With  boundless  rage  inflamed,  that  murd'rous  throng, 

Hurrying  impetuous  with  their  chief  along, 

Thirsting  to  pour  abroad  the  Hebrews'  blood, 

Now  dare  to  follow  thro'  the  hanging  flood. 

The  tyrant's  host  with  blinder  fury  raves, 

And  headlong  plunges  thro?  the  purple  waves, 


*BM   CATHEMERDs-ON.  217 

But  the  wild  waves  descend  with  thund'ring  fall. 
And  in  one  roaring  vortex  swallow  all. 
Then  might  be  seen  wide  floating,  far  and  near. 
Chariots  and  steeds  and  many  a  broken  spear, 
All  that  was  left  of  all  that  host  abhor*  d — 
A  judgment  just  on  Egypt's  ruthless  lord ! 

Thy  praise,  0  God  !  what  mortal  tongue  can  sing. 

Thou  that  of  old  didst  crush  that  cruel  king, 

Making  him  bow  beneath  thy  servant's  hand 

With  every  plague  o'erspreading  all  his  land  ? 

Thou  didst  prevent  the  waters  in  their  wrath 

From  spreading  o'er  thy  people's  sacred  path, 

When  thou  didst  lead  them  thro'  the  depths  below, 

While  the  swift  billow  overwhelmed  their  foe. 

At  thy  command  burst  forth  the  gushing  tide 

From  the  dry  rock  and  plenteous  streams  supplied, 

Slaking  the  thirst  of  all  who  suffer 'd  there 

Beneath  the  fervour  of  the  sultry  air. 

And  thou  didst  sweeten  by  the  wondrous  tree, 

The  bitter  waters  of  the  desert  sea, 

Which  by  that  wood  grew  grateful  to  the  taste  : 

Thus  in  the  Cross  the  hope  of  man  was  placed. 

Thou  fill'dst  the  camp  with  many  a  sweet  supply 

Which  ceaselessly  descended  from  on  high, 

O'erspread'st  the  tables  with  that  manna-meat, 

Which  thou  didst  send  them  from  thy  blissful  seat. 

Thou  drov'st,  0  Lord  !  along  the  gentle  gale, 

In  thick'  ning  clouds  full  many  a  flying  quail, 

Around,  about,  they  strew  the  desert  o'er, 

To  earth  they  cling,  nor  strive  again  to  soar. 
19 


218  THE    CATIIEMEMNON. 

Such  mighty  blessings  hath  Jehovah's  hand 
Poured  forth  of  old  upon  his  chosen  band3 
By  whose  indulgence  are  we  also  fed 
Upon  the  banquet  of  the  mystic  bread. 
With  word  of  pow'r  He  makes  the  tempest  flee, 
And  calls  us  homeward  thro'  life's  troubled  sea, 
Then  bids  the  soul  with  cares  and  toils  oppressed, 
Mount  up  at  last,  and  gain  its  home  of  rest. 
There  heav'nly  odours  scent  the  blissful  ground, 
Where  flow'rs  and  fruits  for  ever  bloom  around  ; 
There  sparkling  fountains  fling  their  silvery  spray 
O'er  the  rich  rose,  soft  dill  and  saffron  gay. 
There  from  its  graceful  bough  the  Balsam  flows, 
There  too  the  cinnamon  unfading  grows. 
And  there  the  Tree  of  Life  shoots  up  on  high, 
While  HeavVs  pure  stream  goes  ever  murmuring  by. 
Th'  immortal  choirs  that  always  there  rejoice, 
To  dulcet  notes  attune  their  heav'nly  voice, 
Pour  o'er  that  land  of  light  their  paeans  sweet, 
And  tread  on  lilies  with  their  snowy  feet. 
What  joy  was  known  amid  those  depths  of  hell 
In  which  the  Just  of  old  were  doomed  to  dwell, 
When  Christ  the  Lord  upon  that  happy  night, 
Thence  to  the  Father  winged  his  glorious  flight  I 
Nor  rose  the  Saviour  like  the  morning  star, 
That  drives  the  gloom  before  its  face  afar, 
But  brighter  than  the  morn  he  flung  the  day, 
While  earth  laughed  out  beneath  the  joyous  ray. 
That  gloomy  prison  saw  its  power  descend, 
And  all  its  dreary  bondage  at  an  end ; 
From  sorrow  free  its  captive  train  arose 


THE   CATHEMERIXOX.  219 

And  mighty  joy  succeeds  their  former  woes. 

Then  rear  the  shrine,  the  sacrifice  prepare. 

Pour  forth  our  anxious  souls  to  God  in  prayer, 

Make  holy  vigils  all  the  heart's  employ, 

And  keep  the  night  a  Festival  of  joy. 

Hung  from  their  trembling  chains,  our  lamps  so  bright, 

Pour  'round  the  fretted  dome  their  lucid  light ; 

The  lustre,  quickened  by  that  unctuous  stream, 

Flings  thro'  the  shining  glass  a  gorgeous  gleam. 

Then  such  a  scene  comes  flashing  on  the  eye, 

It  seems  in  truth  as  'twere  another  sky, 

O'er  which  bright  Phosphor  scatters  all  his  rays, 

And  Taurus,  Liber,  mingle  in  the  blaze  ! 

Behold,  then,  gracious  Power  !  the  sacred  light 

We  burn  to  thee  amid  the  dewy  night, 

Than  which  no  gift  thou  giv'st  us  is  more  dear, 

In  which,  at  once,  thy  favors  all  appear. 

0  thou  the  eye's  true  light,  the  reason's  ray  ! 

Guide  of  the  spirit's  walk,  the  body's  way  ! 

Accept  the  light  thy  children  offer  now 

Made  from  the  fatness  of  the  olive  bough. 

And  grant  our  prayer,  thou  great  Eternal  One  ! 

Thro'  Christ  our  Lord,  thy  sole-begotten  Son, 

In  whom  shines  forth  the  glory  of  thy  deeds, 

From  whom  and  thee  the  Paraclete  proceeds ; 

By  whom  doth  reign  in  wisdom,  beauty,  light, 

And  holiness  and  majesty  and  might, 

The  living  God  in  one  mysterious  Three 

Throughout  all  time  and  thro'  eternity  ! 


220  THE  CATHEMEMNON. 

HYMN   AT   EVENING. 

0  thou  Almighty  Father,  of  mortal  eye  unseen  ! 
And  thou  indulgent  Savior  !  and  Spirit  all  serene  ! 
Mysterious  triune  Godhead,  one  essence,  and  one  light ! 
Thou  God  of  God  eternal !  and  Thou  of  equal  might  ! 
The  day  is  ended,  hear  us — while  comes  the  hour  of  rest, 
When  sleep  once  more  shall  lighten  each  overladen  breast. 
The  mind  with  sorrow  clouded,  and  wildly  crazed  with  care, 
Shall  drink  a  deep  oblivion  of  all  'tis  doomed  to  bear  ;    . 
The  holy  panacea  shall  creep  thro'  every  vein, 
Nor  let  a  sense  of  sadness  within  the  heart  remain. 
The  grateful  change  was  order' d  by  yon  supernal  pow'r, 
To  sweeten  mortal  labor,  to  cheer  the  toilsome  hour. 
But  while  this  blest  nepenthe  thro'  every  member  flows, 
And  lulls  the  quiet  bosom  to  halcyon  repose, 
The  free  untrammelled  spirit  soars  high  on  tireless  plume, 
And  visits  worlds  of  vision  before  enwrapped  in  gloom. 
That  glorious  emanation,  whose  home  is  in  the  sky, 
When  freed  from  worldly  fetter  will  ever  mount  on  high, 
"Where  many  a  sight  of  splendour  floats  round  her  in  her 

flight, 
On  which  she  feeds  with  wonder,  and  gazes  with  delight. 
Yet  mighty  is  the  diff'rence  between   those  midnight 

dreams ; 
They  sometimes  show  the  future  in  truth's  unclouded 

beams ; 
But  often  and  full  often  the  real  world  they  shroud, 
And  overshadow  mortals  with  many  a  darksome  cloud. 
To  him  whose  heart  is  never  to  vicious  actions  prone 
Things  deep  and  strange  will  often  in  visions  be  made  known; 


THE   CATHEMERIXON.  221 

On  him  whose  heart  rejoices  in  thoughts  and  things  unclean, 
Will  ever  rise  at  midnight  full  many  a  frightful  scene. 
Who  can  forget  that  Ancient  in  dungeons  deep  enchained, 
Who  proved  this  to  the  vassals  whose  visions  he  explained, 
Of  whom  one  still  was  destined  the  monarch's  cup  to  bear, 
And  one  was  left  a  victim  for  vulture-beaks  to  tear  1 
That  Sage  admonished  Pharaoh,  whom  dark  dreams  troub- 
led sore, 
To  meet  the  coming  famine  with  many  a  fruitful  store  ; 
And  forthwith  did  that  ruler  thro'  all  his  realm  make 

known, 
That  Joseph  shared  the  sceptre  and  sat  beside  the  throne. 
How  mighty  are  the  secrets  !  how  awful  and  how  deep  ! 
Which  Christ  reveals  to  virtue  amid  the  dreams  of  sleep  ! 
That  fond  and  faithful  herald  of  God's  eternal  Son 
In  vision  saw  those  marvels  which  shortly  must  be  done ; 
He  saw  the  Lamb  of  Sion  red  from  his  mortal  strife, 
Him  who  alone  can  open  the  book  of  Death  and  life, 
Whose  arm  of  justice  wieldeth  the  flaming  two-edged  sword 
With  which  a  double  vengeance  is  taken  by  the  Lord. 
He  is  alone  the  Judge  of  the  living  and  the  dead, 
With  death  the  First  and  Second  upon  his  sword  of  dread ; 
Yet  is  He  all  benignant,  and  oft  restrains  his  ire, 
L'pon  the  callous  solely  pours  he  the  pool  of  fire  ; 
He  hath  received  all  empire  from  Him  who  has  his  love, 
He  hath  received  a  name,  too,  all  other  names  above, 
The  victor  of  the  victor,  the  slayer  he  shall  slay, 
And  from  that  raging  monster  bear  every  spoil  away. 
The  beast  which  the  disciple  denounced  with  all  his  soul, 
That  made  the  nations  perish  and  streams  of  carnage  roll, 

That  dared  with  demon  boldness  to  bear  a  sacred  name. 
19* 


222  THE  CATHEMERINON. 

Subdued  by  Christ  the  True  One,  is  doomed  to  quench- 
less flame. 

Such  was  the  glorious  vision  which  blest  that  mortal's  eye, 

Whose  free  and  favored  spirit  soared  joyous  thro'  the  sky. 

But  oh  !  we  are  not  worthy  of  secrets  thus  sublime ; 

Our  hearts  are  erring  ever,  and  filled  with  every  crime ; 

If  gentle  slumber  bless  us,  and  no  vain  dreams  annoy, 

Our  merits  are  rewarded  with  more  than  equal  joy. 

Remember,  then,  thou  Christian !  that  thou  wert  cleansed 
and  crown' d 

With  water  and  with  unction  poured  on  and  signed  around; 

When  weariness  comes  o'er  thee,  and  thou  would' st  sink 
to  rest, 

0  mark  the  cross  of  Jesus  upon  thy  brow,  thy  breast ; 

Beneath  it  sin  lies  conquer' d — before  it  demons  quail — 

And  whosoever  bears  it  shall  neither  faint  nor  fail. 

Now  fa*r  be  every  phantom,  and  far  each  shape  of  ill ! 

Let  him,  the  master  Tempter,  be  further  from  us  still ; 

0  thou  insidious  serpent  that  circumvent'st  the  heart 

With  all  thy  wiles,  thy  cunning,  with  all  thy  hellish  art! 

Depart — the  Lord  is  with  us — our  God  is  here — away  ! 

This  sign  which  well  thou  knowest  routs  all  thy  fell  array. 

We  go  awhile  to  rest  us,  our  souls  meantime  shall  rise 

Unslothful  and  unslumb'ring  to  seek  their  native  skies. 


FASTJNG. 

O  King  of  Nazareth  !  0  Beth'lem's  pride ! 
Thou  beauteous  offspring  of  a  Virgin-bride ! 


THE   CATHEMERIXOX.  223 

Word  of  God  !  Saviour  !  be  thou  ever  nigh  ! 
Regard  our  fastings  with  a  gracious  eye, 

While  thus  to  Thee  we  make  our  sacrifice. 
What  is  more  pure  than  this  mysterious  art. 
By  which  all  vice  is  banished  from  the  heart, 
By  which  the  passions  of  the  flesh  are  quell 'd, 
And  every  wild  intemperance  expell'd, 

That  the  free  soul  may  still  unfetter  d  rise? 

By  this  is  conquer' d  every  vain  excess, 
Wine  that  degrades,  and  sloth  that  harms  no  less, 
All  thoughts  impure,  all  ribaldrous  offence, 
The  various  evils  of  rebellious  sense ; 

Each  overruled  possesses  feebler  sway : 

Should  we  so  revel  in  the  banquet's  sweets, 
As  evermore  to  seek  its  tempting  meats, 
The  frequent  feast  will  sate  us  to  the  full, 
Make  the  bright  radiance  of  the  soul  grow  dull, 

And  leave  the  mind  as  dormant  as  the  clay. 

Then  be  our  cravings  subject  to  control, 
That  virtue's  light  may  still  illume  the  soul ; 
The  mind  shall  thus  be  beauteous  as  before, 
On  pinion  free  pursue  her  flight  once  more, 

To  seek  the  Lord,  and  heav'nly  raptures  taste. 
By  such  observance  was  Elias  blessed, 
That  ancient  priest,  the  dreary  desert's  guest, 
Who  flying  far  from  every  care  and  strife, 
Renounced  the  pleasures  of  this  sinful  life, 

And  lived  with  holy  silence  in  the  waste. 


224  TKE   CATHEMERIXON. 

Soon  was  he  borne  upon  his  heav'nly  flight, 
By  steeds  of  flame,  and  in  a  car  of  light, 
Lest  the  contagion  of  the  wicked  age 
Should  stain  the  virtue  of  the  sainted  sage, 

For  deeds  of  fasting  far  and  wide  renowned. 
Moses,  the  faithful  Witness  of  the  Laws, 
Could  not  approach  the  great  Eternal  Cause, 
Till  he  had  fasted  while  the  star  of  day 
O'er  all  the  skies  diffusing  his  glad  ray 

For  forty  times  performed  his  wonted  round. 

The  holy  suppliant's  only  food  was  tears — 
Thro'  all  the  night  his  deep  distress  appears ; 
Prostrate  he  lay  upon  the  dewy  sod, 
Till  roused  he  started  at  the  voice  of  God, 

And  quaked  to  see  insufferable  light. 

No  less  unconscious  of  this  art  was  John, 
The  blest  precursor  of  that  "  well  loved  Son," 
"Who  made  again  the  crooked  places  straight, 
And  gave  new  form  to  man's  disorder' d  state, 

Leaving  a  way  where  we  might  walk  aright. 

That  herald,  faithful  to  his  sacred  call, 
Prepared  the  nations  for  the  Lord  of  all, 
To  humble  vales  made  mountain-pride  descend, 
In  gentle  faith  rough  scepticism  end, 

That  nought  might  stay  Truth's  progress  thro'  the  earth. 
That  wond'rous  child,  from  rare  conception  sprung, 
Not  yet  upon  his  mother's  breast  had  hung, 
To  gain  that  milk  unfound  in  her  late  stage, 
Nay — nor  yet  issued  from  the  womb  of  age, 

"When  he  proclaimed  the  coming  Saviour's  birth. 


THE   CATHEMERIXON'.  225 

And  afterwards,  in  vest  of  camel's  hair, 

And  waist  surrounded  by  a  girdle  bare, 

The  holy  hermit  hasten' d  to  the  Tvild, 

To  live  alone,  unblemished,  undefil'd, 
Far  from  the  converse  of  corrupted  men. 

The  rigid  mortal  in  that  dwelling  drear 

Contented,  vow?d  to  abstinence  severe, 

His  little  hunger  only  would  relieve 

When  nightly  shades  had  banished  latest  eve, 
Yet  nought  but  "  locusts  and  wild  honey"  then. 

He  was  the  first  to  preach  Salvation's  word — 
In  Jordan's  river  he  baptized  our  Lord 
Who  cleans 'd  the  waters,  and  ordained  that  they 
Should  thenceforth  wash  all  sinful  stains  away, 

While  from  the  skies  the  Holy  Spirit  came. 
Cleansed  in  that  laver  we  go  forth  new  men, 
Regenerated,  and  all  born  again, 
Pure  a3  the  silver  casting  lustrous  light, 
Or  gold  refined  that  glitters  trebly  bright, 

Beaming  and  glowing  from  the  cleansing  flame. 

But  sing  we  now  the  glorious  fasts  of  old, 
Whose  truthful  tale  in  holy  books  is  told, 
When  heav'n,  relenting,  stay'd  the  threat' ning  fire, 
Bade  the  red  light' nings  of  its  wrath  expire. 

And  saved  the  people  from  their  destined  fall. 
There  was  an  ancient  city  far  renowned, 
Begirt  with  strength,  with  every  beauty  crowned, 
Where  foullest  crime  prevailing  far  and  wide 
With  worst  perversity,  and  headstrong  pride, 

From  God's  sweet  worship  drew  the  hearts  of  all. 


226  THE   CATHEMERINON. 

The  mighty  Judge,  indignant  at  her  lust, 

At  length  arises  in  his  anger  just, 

With  sword  of  flame  arrays  his  red  right  hand, 

Seized  the  loud  thunder,  grasp'd  the  light' ning's  brand, 

And  vow'd  swift  doom  on  that  polluted  pile. 
But  while  his  mercy  still  decrees  a  time, 
In  which  she  haply  may  bewail  each  crime, 
And  free  herself  from  sin's  degrading  yoke, 
Indulgent  Providence  suspends  the  stroke, 

And  the  dread  judgment  is  delayed  a  while. 

Forthwith  He  bids  the  prophet  Jonas  go, 
And  warn  the  city  of  th'  impending  blow ; 
But  Jonas  knowing  'tis  his  Maker's  joy 
To  save  frail  mortal  rather  than  destroy, 

Silent  pursued  his  flight  to  Tarsus'  walls ; 
And  now  he  mounts  a  lofty  vessel's  side, 
Whose  binding  hawsers  quickly  are  untied ; 
They  plough  the  deep,  but  soon  wild  winds  prevail — 
The  cause  is  asked  that  wakes  the  rising  gale, 

The  lots  are  cast,  the  lot  on  Jonas  falls. 

Of  all  the  others  death  is  his  alone, 
Whose  hidden  fault  the  fatal  cast  has  shown ; 
Headlong  he  falls,  the  billows  o'er  him  sweep, 
But  lo  !  a  whale  has  snatched  him  from  the  deep, 

Burying  the  prophet  in  its  monstrous  womb. 
Thus  sudden  captured,  swift  he  downward  sped 
O'er  the  fierce  tongue,  and  by  those  jaws  so  dread, 
Nor  harmed,  nor  hurt,  nor  hinder' d  on  his  way 
For  monster-teeth  to  make  an  easy  prey, 

But  safe  descending  to  his  living  tomb. 


THE    CATHEMERIXOS.  '227 

While  pass  three  days,  and  -while  three  nights  go  by. 
Within  that  prison  is  he  doomed  to  lie, 
"Where  he  surveys  each  dreary  dark  retreat. 
That  makes  his  heart  with  wild  commotions  beat, 

Raised  by  the  terrors  of  that  dismal  spot. 
Where  break  the  billows  with  a  hollow  sound. 
And  wreath  the  rocks  with  snowy  foam  around, 
Lo  !  he  is  belched  the  third  glad  night,  at  last. 
From  out  the  bowels  of  that  monster  vast, 

Astounded,  wond'ring  at  his  happy  lot. 

Filled  with  affright,  and  urged  by  heav'nly  force. 
Straight  to  the  Xinevites  he  bends  his  course. 
And  thus  denounc'd  them  for  their  deeds  of  shame: — 
t;  Soon  Xinevah  shall  sink  beneath  the  flame," 

u  The  wrath  of  God  hangs  burning  o'er  her  now  n — 
He  spoke — and  hurried  to  a  neighb'ring  height, 
To  mark  the  work  of  horror  and  affright — 
To  see  a  waste  where  glory  once  had  been, 
And  all  the  terrors  of  that  fearful  scene  : 

He  sate  o'erhung  by  many  a  verdant  bough. 

But  lo  !  the  city  feels  a  bitter  woe  ! 
What  sighs  burst  forth  !  what  streams  of  sorrow  flow  ! 
Princes  and  peers,  youth,  men  of  every  class, 
Hither  and  thither  fly — a  woful  mass  ! — 

While  shrieks  of  woman  rend  the  sounding  air. 
Forgot  i3  now  each  revel  of  the  past, 
And  heav'n  is  called  on  with  a  solemn  fast ; 
Her  silk  and  gems  the  matron  casts  aside, 
Dark  weeds  of  woe  succeed  the  pomp  of  pride, 

And  show'rs  of  ashes  fill  the  streaming  hair. 


228  TIIE  CATHEMERISOS. 

The  wretched  fathers  move  in  squalid  vest. 
In  shaggy  hair  the  weeping  crowds  are  dress'd ; 
With  locks  all  loose,  young  maids  in  sackcloth  wail, 
Their  faces  shrouded  with  a  mourning  veil, 

And  screaming  children  grasp  the  ground  in  dread. 
The  king  himself  resigns  his  robe  of  state, 
Of  golden  texture,  and  of  massive  weight, 
Tears  off  his  Orders,  flings  his  sceptre  down, 
From  his  gall'd  brow  removes  the  glitt'ring  crown, 

And  scatters  ashes  on  his  royal  head. 

The  bowl,  and  banquet  are  no  longer  sought, 
Strict  abstinence  demands  the  gen'ral  thought; 
The  very  cradles  float  with  ceaseless  tears, 
Pour'd  forth  in  vain  by  those  of  infant  years, 

For  milk  which  now  the  mother's  breast  denies. 
The  watchful  spirit  of  the  shepherd-swain 
Within  close  covert  keeps  his  num'rous  train, 
Lest  e'en  the  brute  should  crop  its  grassy  food, 
Or  quench  its  thirst  amid  the  swelling  flood ; 

Meanwhile  loud  bellowings  from  the  stables  rise. 

Appeased  by  this,  Jehovah's  wrath  is  done, 
And  gracious  pardon  is  immediate  won ; 
For  heav'nly  favor  is  still  ready  shown, 
When  sinful  mortals  for  their  crimes  atone, 

By  tears  of  penance  pour'd  to  Mercy  thus. 
Yet  wherefore  sing  we  fasts  of  ancient  date, 
When  Christ  himself  confirmed  their  use  of  late, 
Appearing  here  in  limbs  of  mortal  mould, 
Yet  long  before  by  prophet-tongues  foretold, 

The  great  Emmanuel,  or  God  with  us  ? 


THE   CATHEMERIXON.  229 

Who  freed  this  flesh  (by  nature  all  so  vain 
And  ever  bound  in  Pleasure's  flow'ry  chain;) 
Leading  it  forth  in  virtue's  narrow  way, 
The  liberator  of  our  fragile  clay, 

And  ancient  victor  of  careering  crime. 

Retiring  lone  where  stillest  silence  reigned, 
For  forty  days  and  nights  the  Lord  remained 
Without  receiving  aught  of  earthly  fare, 
By  holy  fasting  only  nourished  there, 

And  heav'nly  joys  that  cheer 'd  the  dreary  time. 

The  foe  amazed  to  find  frail  man  so  strong 
As  thus  to  struggle  with  distress  so  long, 
With  wily  art  endeavored  hard  to  find 
If  God  could  come  in  form  of  humankind  ; 

But  quick  repulsed,  back  rushes  he  again. 
This  blest  observance,  then,  we'll  ever  make, 
Which  thou,  0  Lord  !  hast  practised  for  our  sake  ; 
That  when  we  stand  against  temptation's  might, 
Thou  great  Ordainer  of  each  sacred  rite  ! 

The  conquering  soul  triumphant  still  may  reign. 

'Tis  this  that  Satan  marks  with  jealous  eye  ; 

This  glads  the  Ruler  of  the  earth  and  sky, 

Sweetens  the  victim  on  the  hallow 'd  shrine, 

Wakes  the  cold,  slumb'ring  soul  to  things  divine, 

And  drives  each  storm  of  passion  from  the  heart. 

Swifter  than  water  stops  the  fire's  red  flow, 

Swifter  than  sunshine  melts  away  the  snow, 

Doth  the  deep  force  of  fasting's  sacred  sway 

Drive  from  the  soul  each  sinful  gust  away, 

If  heav'nly  Charity  but  play  her  part. 
20 


230  THE   CATHEMERINON. 

It  is  true  virtue's  great  and  crowning  deed, 
To  clothe  the  naked,  and  the  hungry  feed, 
On  those  who  want,  our  ready  alms  bestow, 
And  last — observe,  between  the  high,  the  low, 

One  rule  of  conduct  evermore  the  same. 
He  who  for  praise  is  lavish  of  his  gains, 
Already  has  the  crown  of  all  his  pains, 
But  he  who  giveth,  letting  none  behold, 
Shall  see  his  fruit  increase  a  thousand  fold, 

While  fadeless  glories  shall  enwreath  his  name. 


AFTER    FASTING. 

Jesus  !  thy  servants'  unchangeable  stay  ! 
That  boldest  o'er  mortals  that  merciful  sway 

Which  clasps  them  with  gentlest  caress  ! 
Whon  fetter 'd  thyself  with  this  wearisome  coil, 
Thou  did'st  struggle  with  many  a  terrible  toil, 

But  man  thou  dost  fondle  and  bless. 

The  third  part  of  day  has  now  vanished  and  gone, 
The  ninth  hour  of  morning  has  brightly  come  on, 

The  fourth  part  beginneth  its  flight ; 
Our  fasting  is  ended,  our  orisons  said, 
The  board  is  prepared,  and  abundantly  spread, 

And  we  go  to  the  feast  with  delight. 

So  great  is  the  love  of  our  bountiful  Lord, 
He  soothes  us  with  many  a  life-giving  word, 
And  chases  our  sorrows  away ; 


THE   CATHEMERIXON.  231 

He  bids  us  display  not  a  countenance  sad, 
But  light  up  our  features  and  make  them  look  glad, 
And  deck  us  in  festal  array. 


11  When  ye  fast,"  says  the  Saviour,  "anoint yourselves 

o'er," 
r-  Bring  the  glow  to  your  cheek  that  illum'd  it  before," 

"  That  nought  of  your  suff'ring  remain  ;" 
':  "With  joyful  humility  hide  from  man's  eye,'' 
"  The  duties  you  do  for  your  Master  on  high," 

"  And  God  will  reward  all  your  pain/' 

To  the  gloom  of  the  desert  He  hastens  away, 
And  seeks  for  the  sheep  that  is  sick  and  astray, 

To  heal  all  its  bruises  and  wounds ; 
Far  off  from  the  place  where  the  savage  wolves  roam, 
He  bears  on  his  shoulders  the  worn  wand'rer  home, 

And  leads  it  to  flowery  sweet  grounds. 

He  feeds  it  there,  fond,  on  some  warm  sunny  green, 
Where  the  thorn  or  the  thistle  was  never  yet  seen, 

And  night-shadows  cast  not  their  gloom  ; 
Where  many  a  sweet  herb  and  palm  tree  are  found, 
And  many  a  glassy  fount  sparkles  around, 

And  laurels  eternally  bloom. 

Thou  bountiful  Shepherd  that  dwellest  above  ! 
0  what  shall  repay  all  those  marks  of  thy  love  1 

Weak,  worthless  our  efforts  must  be ; 
Though  frequent  we  fast,  and  tho'  fervent  we  pray, 
Our  bodies  chastising,  by  night  and  by  day, 

How  poor  the  return  unto  Thee  ! 


232  THE   CATHEMERINON. 

To  equal  that  goodness  we  cannot  avail, 
Every  act  we  perform  is  but  feeble  and  frail, 

And  our  efforts  but  wear  out  our  strength ; 
Lest  vigor  desert,  then,  our  perishing  clay, 
And  weakness  come  o'er  us  to  waste  us  away, 

And  our  pow'rs  become  prostrate  at  length, 

Each  order  we  pass  now  that  bade  us  refrain, 
And  a  season  we  take  to  refresh  us  again, 

When  each  may  eat  freely  with  joy  ; 
But  first,  let  the  blessing  of  heav'n  be  implor'd, 
Ere  we  sit  to  partake  of  the  plentiful  board, 

And  so  in  our  every  employ. 

We  deemed  that  our  feast  would  be  healthful  and  sweet, 
If  the  favor  on  high  would  descend  on  our  meat, 

So  the  Saviour  has  crown'd  our  request ; 
May  it  give  us,  we  pray,  all  our  freshness  and  force, 
And  aid  us  in  running  in  virtue's  bright  course, 

And  gaining  a  home  with  the  blest. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CHRIST. 

Bring  forth,  0  Boy  !  my  harp,  that  I 

May  wake  to  truth  the  slumb'ring  chord, 
And  chaunt,  in  dulcet  melody, 
The  mighty  wonders  of  the  Lord. 

Bo  this,  0  Muse  !  thy  sweetest  dream, 
Be  this,  0  Lyre  !  alone  thy  theme. 
With  garlands,  like  a  Pontiff,  crown'd, 


THE   CATHEMERIXON.  233 

The  Prophet-king  proclaimed  His  birth, 
With  voice  and  harp  and  timbrel's  sound 
To  all  the  tribes  and  tongues  of  earth : 

Aloud  he  sang  the  solemn  strain. 

While  heav'nly  fire  filled  every  vein. 

We  too  would  sound,  in  fitting  tones, 

Those  mighty  and  mysterious  things, 
Which  all  the  world  proclaims  and  owns, 
And  Nature's  self  confirms  and  sings  : 
"  A  God  of  love,"  Creation  cries, 
11  For  sinful  mortal  leaves  the  skies." 
Forth  from  the  Father's  breast  he  came, 

Before  arose  this  earthly  ball, 
Alpha,  Omega,  is  his  name, 

The  fountain  and  the  flow  of  all — 
The  substance  full,  the  glorious  sum 
Of  things  past,  present  and  to  come. 

He  gave  the  word,  and  all  obeyed — 

He  spoke,  and  being  sprang  to  birth — 
The  triple  element  he  made 

Of  Sky.  of  Ocean,  ami  of  Earth ; 
With  whatsoever  else  appears 
Beneath  the  sun's  and  moon's  broad  spheres. 
He  put  on  him  this  form  of  clay 

The  destined  tenant  of  the  tomb — 
And  thus  drew  men  from  hell's  dark  way, 
Which  was  their  fixed  and  final  doom, 
Entailed  by  man's  first  parent's  woe, 
And  sealed  on  every  soul  below. 
20* 


234  THE   CATHEMEMNON. 

0  ever-glorious  was  the  hour 

In  which  that  Virgin,  full  of  grace, 
O'ershadow'd  by  Jehovah's  pow'r, 
Brought  forth  Salvation  to  our  race ; 
And  earth's  Redeemer,  her  sweet  child 
Show'd  to  the  world  his  brow  so  mild. 
All  souls  on  earth — all  souls  on  high — 

Ye  Cherubim  !  Ye  Seraphim  ! 
With  ev'ry  voice  that  fills  the  sky, 
Pour  to  the  Lord  a  praiseful  hymn, 
And  silent  let  no  tongue  remain, 
But  join  ye  all  the  joyous  strain. 

Behold  him  whom  the  bards  of  old, 
Proclaimed  aloud  thro'  every  age, 
Him  whom  the  Prophets  all  foretold 
In  many  a  veritable  page ! 

The  Promised  comes  of  ancient  days  ! 
Strike,  Jews  and  Gentiles !  to  his  praise. 
The  vessels  filled  with  water,  high, 
O'erflow  with  nectar  all  divine; 
The  waiting  menial  standeth  by, 
And  loud  proclaims  the  rosy  wine  ; 
The  banquet-master  tastes  the  bowl, 
And  sudden  wonder  fills  his  soul. 

With  leprosy's  distemper  dread 

A  wretch  stood  near  afflicted  sore ; 
"  Be  thou  made  clean,"  the  Saviour  said, 
And  lo  !  the  mis'ry  was  no  more ; 
The  sacrifice  was  offer'd  then, 
And  all  the  man  is  pure  again. 


THE   CATHEMERIXOX.  235 

Thou  did'st,  0  Lord !  anoint  with  clay 

And  spittle  from  thy  sacred  tongue 
The  sight  obscured  for  many  a  day, 
With  densest  shadows  overhung. 
Before  thy  touch  the  blindness  flies, 
And  light  once  more  illumes  the  eyes. 

Thou  did'st  rebuke  the  tempest  dark 

That  howled  in  phrenzy  o'er  those  waves 
Which  threatened,  wild,  the  little  bark, 
Loud  roaring  from  their  lowest  caves. 
The  storm  obeys  thy  high  behest, 
And  silence  reigns  o'er  ocean's  breast. 
A  woman  touches  but  by  stealth 

Thy  sacred  garment's  hem.  when  now 
Forthwith  returns  her  long-lost  health, 
And  flies  the  paleness  from  her  brow ; 

The  stream  that  flow'd  surcharged  with  gore, 
Beholds  it  bloody  flux  no  more. 

In  death's  deep  slumber  lying  low, 
A  youth  is  borne  upon  his  bier, 
The  widow* d  mother  following  slow 
With  many  a  bursting  bitter  tear : 

"Arise  !"  said  Christ — the  boy  arose — 
The  mother's  heart  with  joy  o'erflows. 
Inspiring  him  again  with  breath, 

He  orders  Lazarus  to  rise, 
Fast  bound  within  the  house  of  death 
While  roll'd  four  suns  across  the  skies ; 
Again  comes  home  life's  genial  flame, 
And  warms  once  more  the  fetid  frame. 


286  THE   CATHEMEMNON. 

He  moves  along  the  wat'ry  ways, 

And  walks  upon  the  billow's  head  ; 
Now  here,  now  there  the  ocean  sways, 
And  smooths  a  path  where  he  may  tread ; 
Nor  does  the  liquid  yield,  tho'  pressed 
Beneath  the  Savior's  footstep  blessed. 
Abiding  in  the  dens  and  caves, 

And  howling  fiercely  in  his  chains, 
A  wretched  being  wildly  raves, 

All  torn  and  tortur'd  with  his  pains  ; 
He  leaps,  and  runs,  and  calls  on  high, 
When  he  beholds  the  Saviour  nigh. 

A  myriad  spirits  of  deep  hell 

Fly  swift  before  that  pow'r  divine, 
And  rush  forth  suddenly  to  dwell 
Amidst  a  herd  of  feeding  swine  ; 
The  frantic  beasts  impatient  flee, 
And  headlong  perish  in  the  sea. 
When  thousands  sat  and  ate  their  fill 

Upon  the  dreary  desert  ground, 
Twelve  baskets  full  were  counted  still 
Of  what  in  fragments  lay  around ; 
Two  fishes  and  five  loaves  of  bread, 
Were  all,  meantime,  on  which  they  fed. 

0  Thou,  our  Bread !  our  real  meat ! 

The  spirit's  inexhausted  store  ! 
Whoever  of  thy  board  shall  eat, 

Shall  ne'er  complain  of  hunger  more ; 
Nor  frame  alone  dost  thou  renew, 
Thou  fill'st  the  soul  with  plenty,  too. 


THE   CATHEMERIXON.  237 

The  latent  cavern  of  the  ear 

No  more  susceptible  of  sound, 
At  thy  command  again  is  clear 

From  every  band  with  which  'twas  bound, 
Now  thrilling  to  each  vocal  cry, 
And  hearing  ev'n  the  softest  sigh. 

And  every  sickness  flies  away, 

And  every  foul  disease  is  heal'd  ; 
And  0  the  tongue  may  loudly  say 
With  what  deep  silence  it  was  sealed  ! 
The  lame  leaps  up  with  joyful  tread, 
And  through  the  city  bears  his  bed : 
To  cheer  those  souls  immured  below, 

And  bring  them  to  their  blest  estate, 
To  Limbo  too,  He  deign'd  to  go, 

Swift  bursting  thro'  the  brazen  gate, 
Whose  solid  bar  is  thrown  aside, 
"Wrench*  d  from  its  rest  and  opened  wide. 

That  depth  which  swiftly  men  descend, 

But  never  could  as  swiftly  fly, 
Beholding  now  its  thraldom  end, 
Gives  all  its  inmates  to  the  sky  : 
The  law  of  grace  prevails,  at  last, 
And  that  deep  prison's  bound  is  pass'd. 
While  Christ  did  thus,  with  dazzling  ray, 

That  place  of  shadows  all  illume, 
Diffusing  everlasting  day 

Wide  o'er  its  palaces  of  gloom, 

O'er  heav'ns  broad  brow  black  vapours  sweep, 
And  shroud  the  spheres  in  darkness  deep. 


238  THE   CATIIEMERINON. 

The  sun  is  shut  from  out  the  skies, 

With  shadows  deep  as  night  o'erspread  ; 
Far  from  his  course  the  planet  flies, 
And  hides  in  midnight-gloom  his  head ; 
The  world  awaits,  in  pallid  fright, 
The  chaos  of  eternal  night ! 
0  let  my  voice  be  heard  on  high, 

And  let  my  tongue  be  all  unbound ; 
Resound  the  Passion's  Victory, 
The  triumph  of  the  cross  resound  ; 
Sing  we  that  sacred  sign  which  now 
Glows  bright  on  every  faithful  brow  ! 

Wonder  of  wonders  !     Woe  of  woes  ! 

0  miracle  of  that  sad  wood  ! 
Adown  it  what  a  river  flows 

Of  sacred  water  mixed  with  blood  ! 
Our  sins  are  in  that  water  drown'd, 
And  with  that  blood  are  mortals  crown 'd. 
The  serpent  sees  the  Sacrifice 

Of  that  blessed  body  offer 'd  there ; 
He  sees — and  lo  !  his  enmities 
Are  vain,  for  he  no  more  can  dare  ; 

With  head  all  bruis'd,  and  rack'd  with  pain 
He  hisses,  but  his  wrath  is  vain. 

Of  what  avail,  thou  fiend  accurst ! 
Is  now  to  thee  that  wicked  wile, 
Which  doomed  the  world  to  death  at  first, 
And  gave  a  triumph  to  thy  guile  ? 
A  God,  cloth'd  in  this  form  of  clay, 
Has  washed  each  sinful  stain  away. 


THE   CATHEMERINON.  239 

His  body  He  vouchsafed  to  give 

A  little  while  to  death's  embrace, 
To  bid  the  dead  of  ages  live, 

Live  to  the  glorious  life  of  grace, 
Bursting  the  fetters  of  those  crimes 
Which  filPd  the  heart  from  ancient  times. 

"With  him  did  all  the  Saints  arise, 

As  he,  triumphant,  led  the  way, 
Returning  joyful  to  the  skies, 
Upon  the  third  auspicious  day. 

The  self-same  flesh  they  all  assume, 
And  soar  exulting  from  the  tomb. 
Then  might  you  see  the  dead  limbs  form, 

From  out  their  heap  of  ashes  grey, 
And  the  green  veins  returning,  warm 
The  cold  and  lifeless  lumps  of  clay, 
The  nerves  and  bones,  and  all  within 
Swift  covering  with  the  tender  skin. 

When  death  by  Life  was  swallow' d  down,* 

And  lost  humanity  restored, 
The  Lord,  arrayed  in  victory's  crown, 

Triumphant  to  his  Father  soared, 
Bearing  forth  to  Eternal  Life 
The  glory  of  his  passion's  strife. 
Then  reign,  thou  Judge  of  earth's  dead  band ! 

King  of  the  living  !  reign  in  might, 
There  seated  at  thy  sire's  right  hand, 

And  circled  by  the  pow'rs  of  light, 

'*  Swallowing  down  Death. "— Stf.  Paul. 


240  THE   CATHEMEMNOtf. 

From  "which  thou  shalt  descend  again 
Th'  avenging  Judge  of  sinful  men. 

Old  Age,  and  Youth,  and  Infancy ! 

Sing  ye  aloud  a  grateful  song  ! 
And  Virgins  !  Mothers  !  Maids  !  do  ye 
Join,  too,  with  the  rejoicing  throng  ! 
Let  all  resound  their  sweetest  lays, 
And  chaunt  the  Saviour's  boundless  praise. 
The  billow's  and  the  river's  flow — 

The  sea-beat  coast — the  sounding  bay — 
The  heat,  the  cold,  the  rain,  the  snow, 
And  calm,  and  storm,  and  night  and  day ! 
All,  all  your  songs  of  gladness  pour, 
And  laud  his  name  for  evermore  ! 


HYMN 


{At  the  Burial  of  the  Bead.) 

0  Thou,  who  art  our  being  and  our  breath, 
Whose  power  consorted,  with  mysterious  plan, 

The  two-fold  element  of  Life  and  Death, 
And  gave  by  this,  existence  unto  man. 

And  they  are  thine — each  wondrous  work  is  thine — 
For  thee  alone  is  formed  the  glorious  whole, 

And  while  in  union  each  with  each  shall  twine, 
For  thee  shall  live  the  body  and  the  soul. 

When,  by  and  bye,  Time  breaks  the  tender  ties, 
Each  part  will  hasten  to  its  place  of  birth, 


THE    CATHEMERIXOS.  241 

The  glowing  spirit  seeks  her  native  skies, 

The  flesh  goes  mingling  with  its  kindred  earth. 

When  at  the  last  the  bonds  are  thus  unbound, 
The  man  is  doomed  to  wither  and  decay, 

The  breathless  dust  is  laid  beneath  the  ground, 
The  soul  is  wafted  on  the  breeze  away. 

It  is  ordained  that  all  created  things, 

Weakened  and  worn,  must  fade  at  length  outright. 
And  thus  are  snapped  association's  strings, 

And  so  does  this  frail  texture  disunite. 

Yet,  gracious  Lord  !  thou  who  still  lor  st  thy  own, 
For  mortal's  sake  hast  made  death's  bondage  vain, 

A  glorious  manner  in  thy  mercy  shown 

By  which  the  mould' ring  limbs  may  rise  again. 

If  e'er  the  will,  despising  reason's  ray, 
Spurn  virtue's  path  to  follow  that  of  lust, 

The  conquer 'd  soul  is  also  borne  away, 
And  with  the  carnal  grovels  in  the  dust. 

But  if  the  spirit  scorn  the  path  of  ill, 

Still  ever  mindful  of  her  guiding  light, 
An  easy  captive  does  she  take  the  will, 

And  waft  it  with  her  to  the  heav'nly  height. 

Thor  the  crush 'd  body  lies  a  lifeless  mass 

When  the  free  spirit  bursts  from  its  control, 

Yet  brief  the  period  that  is  doomed  to  pass 

When  it  regains  its  union  with  the  soul. 
21 


242  THE   CATHEMERINON. 

The  time  is  near  when  mortal  shall  behold 
The  radiant  spirit  warm  the  bones  once  more, 

And  bear  along  her  domicile  of  old, 
All  life  and  animation  as  before — 

That  lately  putrified  and  loathsome  frame 
Which  lay  so  sadly  in  the  dreary  tomb, 

Again  resplendent  in  the  soul's  bright  flame 
Is  wafted  to  the  skies  on  rapid  plume. 

Hence  the  great  care  bestowed  upon  the  grave — 
Hence  the  last  honors  lavished  on  the  dead — 

We  bid  the  willow  o'er  the  greensward  wave, 
We  strew  bright  flow'rs  above  the  buried  head. 

We  bring  at  first  the  flowing  winding  sheet, 
Pure  as  the  snow,  and  wrap  the  lifeless  clay, 

We  then  embalm  it  with  an  odour  sweet, 
And  thus  preserve  it  from  too  swift  decay. 

Why  should  we  rear  the  sculptured  marble  here, 
Or  tow' ring  monument,  however  fair  ? 

Our  friends  are  not  as  they  would  now  appear, 
They  are  not  dead  but  only  slumb'ring  there. 

Believing  firmly  that  death's  solemn  rest 
Will  soon  be  o'er,  and  all  again  be  life, 

The  christian  hero  has  within  his  breast 
A  pow'r  superior  to  all  mortal  strife. 

Where'er  the  dead  demand  his  work  of  love. 
He  hastes  to  bear  them  to  their  last  repose, 


THE   CATHEMEMNON.  243 

A  faithful  servant  of  his  Lord  above, 
This  gentle  charity  he  still  bestows. 

There  is  within  each  member  of  our  race 
A  law  that  bids  us  weep  above  the  tomb  ; 

When  one  hath  haply  left  his  earthly  place, 
We  mourn  o'er  his,  our  own  peculiar  doom. 

The  young  Tobias'  saintly  sire  of  yore, 
That  rev' rend  sage  whom  ev'ry  virtue  led, 

Forsook  the  pleasures  of  the  banquet's  store, 
And  hied  away  attendant  on  the  dead. 

He  left  the  goblet  and  the  ready  fare. 

While  stood  his  ministers  obsequious  'round, 

Bound  up  his  garments,  and  with  pious  care 
Prepared  the  body  for  the  silent  ground. 

A  favor  soon  descended  from  the  skies, 
The  man  of  God  received  his  just  reward ; 

The  bitter  gall  was  spread  upon  his  eyes, 
And  sight  returned  obedient  to  the  Lord. 

By  such  a  cure,  the  God  of  earth  and  heav'n 
Has  clearly  shown  us  by  how  hard  a  way 

Is  the  blest  gift  to  weary  mortal  giv'n, 

Whose  eyes  would  open  to  a  new-born  day. 

Thus  are  we  taught  that  none  shall  see  that  light, 
Which  glads  the  saints  in  heav'n's  celestial  reign, 

Till  each  has  struggled  thro'  this  earthly  night. 
Its  hour  of  sorrow,  and  its  path  of  pain. 


244  THE   CATHEMERINOy. 

Our  close  will  then  have  more  of  heav'nly  trust, 
For,  thro'  the  trials  that  surround  our  end, 

The  "  narrow  way  "  is  open'd  to  the  just, 
By  which  alone  to  glory  we  ascend. 

Thus  shall  those  bodies,  now  deprived  of  breath, 

Arise  again,  and  hail  a  happier  day ; 
Nor  shall  that  life,  thus  warming  out  of  death, 

From  its  new  vigor  ever  fall  away. 

That  chilling  brow  which  dissolution's  power, 
Hath  all  defiled,  and  spread  with  fearful  gloom, 

Shall  live  again  as  fragrant  as  the  flower, 
And  wear  the  blush  of  beauty's  own  sweet  bloom. 

Age  ne'er  shall  then  disturb  our  happy  course, 
By  dimming  fast  the  loveliness  of  youth  ; 

Nor  shall  disease  e'er  waste  away  our  force, 
By  preying  on  us  with  its  cankering  tooth. 

Each  dreadful  plague  that  smites  us  now  below, 
In  that  glad  season  shall  be  all  unknown, 

Condemn' d  to  writhe  beneath  our  present  woe, 
And,  for  these  pangs,  in  manacles  atone. 

The  flesh,  victorious  and  immortal  then, 

Shall  mark  these  scourges  from  its  throne  in  heav'n, 
As  loud  they  wail,  and  ever  shall  again, 

The  trials,  tortures  which  themselves  had  giv'n ! 

But  why  should  now  the  ling1  ring  crowd  in  vaitf, 
Thus  pour  abroad  the  mingled  plaint  and  tear  1 


THE   CATHEMERIXOX.  245 

Why  should  we  mortals  madly  thus  complain. 
Do  we  addeem  God's  holy  will  severe  I 

Then  let  the  sigh  of  sadness  now  be  o'er. — 
Ye  weeping  mothers  !  wipe  your  tears  away  ! 

Their  loving  pledges  let  none  now  deplore — 
This  death  is  nothing  but  Life's  dawning  day. 

The  seed,  we  know,  will  spring  to  light  again, 
Tho'  rotted  now,  and  buried  in  the  earth : 

The  tender  shoot  soon  peers  above  the  plain, 
And  the  ripe  ear  in  season  has  its  birth. 

Then  take,  thou  Earth  !  this  burden  to  thy  trust, 
And,  like  a  mother,  clasp  it  to  thy  breast ; 

To  thee  awhile  we  give  the  mortal  dust, 

The  ashes,  once  of  gen'rous  worth  possessed  ! 

Once  was  this  wreck  the  palace  of  the  soul, 
That  bright  creation  of  Jehovah's  breath — 

In  this  shone  wisdom  as  a  burning  coal — 

In  Christ  it  liv'd — in  Christ  it  sleeps  in  death. 

Hide  thou  the  body  which  we  here  depose, 
Th'  Eternal  One  shall  seek  it  of  thee  yet, 

Still  ever  mindful  of  the  lot  of  those 
Upon  whose  brow  his  image  has  been  set. 

The  day  of  justice  will  come  quickly  on, 

When  God  himself  shall  crown  each  mortal  vow, 

And  thou,  wide-rent,  restore  the  buried  one. 

Ev'n  as  our  hands  consign  it  to  thee  now. 
21* 


246  THE   CATHEMERIXON. 

Tho'  the  vile  worm  should  on  those  relics  prey 
Till  nothing  more  than  ashes  would  remain — 

Tho'  the  light  dust,  thus  ground  and  worn  away, 
Become  no  greater  than  the  smallest  grain — 

Tho'  warring  winds,  and  tho'  the  fiercest  storm 
That  ever  raged  along  the  skyey  void 

Would  dash  to  atoms  that  unseemly  form — 
Still  glorious  man  shall  never  be  destroyed. 

Say,  then,  0  Father  !  in  what  place  or  sphere 
Dost  thou  command  the  virtuous  soul  to  rest, 

When  thou  hast  called  the  body  off  from  here, 
And  dost  with  flesh  the  bones  again  invest  ? 

0  'tis  embosomed  in  that  sainted  Sire 
With  whom  the  lowly  Lazarus  repos'd, 

Whom  Dives,  looking  from  his  bed  of  fire, 
Beheld  with  all  the  bloom  of  heav'n  enclos'd. 

That  voice,  sweet  Saviour !  we  shall  still  obey, 
By  which,  triumphant  o'er  the  pow'rs  of  hell, 

Thou  called'st  the  robber  on  thy  dying  day, 
In  thine  own  home  of  Paradise  to  dwell. 

Now  to  the  faithful,  lo  !  the  golden  gate 

Of  immortality  doth  wide  unfold  ; 
We  may  approach,  and  seek  the  blest  estate 

"Which  the  Destroyer  wrested  from  our  hold. 

Then  bid  the  soul,  thou  Guide  of  wand' ring  feet ! 
Attain  the  rest  for  which  wc  humbly  pray  j 


THE   CATHEMERINON.  247 

Make  it  sit  down  upon  that  native  seat, 
From  which  it  wander 'd  exiled  and  astray. 

Ours  be  it  now  to  bid  o'er  each  lov'd  bone 

The  green  boughs  wave,  the  purple  flow'rs  abound, 

Imprint  the  name  upon  the  chilly  stone, 

And  pour  blest  water  o'er  the  hallowed  mound. 


CHRISTMAS    DAY. 

Wet  through  the  zone  of  Capricorn 

Takes  now  the  failing  sun  his  flight  ? 
It  is  because  the  Lord  is  born, 

Who  comes  to  flood  the  world  with  light. 
How  quickly  hath  the  fleeting  hour 

Borne  from  our  eyes  the  light  of  day ! 
How  hath  the  sunshine  lost  its  pow'r, 

Falling  and  fading,  ray  by  ray  ! 
Full  soon  the  skies  shall  brighter  glare, 

And  all  creation  sweeter  smile, 
The  day  of  days  fill  earth  and  air, 

And  every  thing  exult  the  while. 
Arise — 0  beauteous  Babe !  arise, 

To  whom  Virginity  gives  birth ! 
Thou  parent  free  from  bridal  ties  ! 

Redeemer!  Born  of  heav'n  and  earth! 

Tho'  from  thy  Father  com'st  thou  now, 
And  tho'  thou  art  his  son  divine, 


24S  THE   CATHEMERIXON. 

Yet  from  eternity  art  thou. 

And  wisdom  hath  been  ever  thine. 
Twas  thou  that  did'st  create  the  skies. 

And  all  that  blooms  or  shines  abroad  ; 
At  thy  command  did  they  arise. 

Because  the  Word  of  God  was  God. 
And  while  the  countless  years  roll  on, 

And  all  in  harmony  transpire, 
The  founding  and  the  guiding  One 

Dwelt  in  the  bosom  of  that  Sire. 
There  dwelt  he  till  the  weary  years 

Had  measurd  out  their  destin'd  time  ; 
He  then  approach' d  this  vale  of  tears 

Long  darken' d  with  the  clouds  of  crime. 

0  many  a  path  which  heav'n  abhor' d, 

The  blinded  nations  then  pursued ; 
They  gave  the  homage  due  the  Lord 

To  forms  of  stone,  and  bras3  and  wood. 
While  follow 'd  those  their  evil  way, 

Into  the  demon's  pow'r  they  fell, 
And  plunged  their  souls,  an  easy  prey, 

Down  to  the  dreadful  depths  of  hell. 
Christ  could  no  more  behold  the  sight, 

And  he  would  burst  that  fiend's  control. 
Lest  man,  his  Father's  image  bright, 

Should  forfeit  his  immortal  soul. 
A  human  form  did  he  assume, 

To  make  that  human  form  arise, 
Burst  thro'  the  portals  of  the  tomb, 

And  bear  it  with  him  to  the  skies. 


THE   CATHEMERIXON.  249 

Now  beams  again  that  royal  day, 

When  heav'n  at  last  rain'd  down  the  Just, 
Who  joined  himself  to  mortal  clay, 

Deity  mingling  with  the  dust. 
Did' st  thou  not  feel,  thou  maid  renown' d  ! 

When  thou  didst  give  him  to  the  earth, 
Thy  spotless  virtue  more  than  crowned 

By  the  high  honor  of  his  birth  ? 
0  what  unnumber'd  joys  for  man 

That  sacred  womb  of  thine  contain^, 
From  which  another  world  began, 

Another  golden  epoch  reigned  ! 
His  infant  cry  did  usher  in 

A  rising  orb's  resplendent  morn  ; 
Then  died  the  ancient  world  of  sin, 

And  that  of  joy  and  grace  was  born. 

Earth  then,  mcthinks,  rejoicing  smiled, 

And  flowYs  enamelled  all  the  ground; 
Beauty  adorned  the  desert  wild, 

And  breath' d  celestial  odours  'round. 
Creation  all  appeared  to  own 

The  rising  Saviour  as  he  sprang ; 
Bright  verdure  cloth' d  the  rugged  stone, 

And  nature  wide  glad  welcome  sang. 
From  the  hard  rock  did  honey  flow, 

From  tamarisks  the  balsam  broke, 
And  the  bright  rose  was  known  to  blow 

From  the  dry  branches  of  the  oak. 
How  blest,  0  Lord !  is  now  the  place, 

Where  thou  did'st  first  to  man  appear ! 


250  THE   CATIIEMERINON. 

For  ever  sacred  to  our  race, 

And  even  to  the  brute  still  dear  ! 

The  animal  untaught  in  all, 

Did  there  to  Christ  true  homage  yield, 
There  did  the  ass  in  worship  fall 

Whose  instinct  only  seeks  the  field. 
But  God's  own  race  their  Lord  denied, 

And  followed  him  with  vengeance  dire, 
Filled  to  the  last  with  hell-born  pride, 

And  raging  with  the  Demon's  ire. 
0  wayward  stock  !  what  deed  insane 

Art  thou  not  doing  ?  hold  and  see 
(If  aught  of  reason  yet  remain,) 

The  guard  and  guide  of  thine  and  thee  ! 
Him  whom  in  infancy  low  laid 

Within  a  narrow  crib  confin'd, 
The  ever  blest  and  spotless  maid 

Bestow  \1  as  King  on  all  mankind. 

O  sinner  !  thou  shalt  see  him  yet 

Above  the  clouds  exalted  high, 
When  every  hope  for  thee  hath  set, 

And  tears  shall  vainly  dim  thine  eye. 
When  the  terrific  trump  shall  send 

Its  warning  thro'  the  frighted  world, 
When  earth  shall  shake  from  end  to  end, 

And  into  ruin  all  be  hurled  ; 
Enthroned  upon  his  seat  of  light, 

Man's  good  and  evil  he  shall  weigh, 
This  shall  descend  to  endless  night. 

And  that  enjoy  eternal  day. 


THE   CATHEMERINOX.  251 

Beholding  that  bright  cross  of  pow'r. 

Ah  !  Israel !  thou  shah  know  him  then. 
Whom,  murder* d  in  thy  passion's  hour. 

Death  conquer'd,  but  resign'd  again. 


THE     EPIPHANY. 

0  ye,  who  now  would  seek  your  God  ! 

Uplift  your  eyes  and  look  on  high  : 
His  sign  of  glory  beams  abroad. 

And  fills  with  lustre  all  the  sky. 

Of  rarer  grace,  and  richer  glow 
Than  yonder  golden  lamp  of  morn. 

This  star  proclaims  to  all  below 

That  man's  Redeemer  hath  been  born. 

It  is  no  lonely  star  of  night, 

Twinkling  beside  the  changeful  moon  : 
All  heav'n  it  fills  with  floods  of  light, 

And  burns  amid  the  blaze  of  noon. 

Tho5  the  clear  orb3  that  shine  aloft. 

Are  such  as  never  wholly  fade, 
Yet  is  their  varying  light  full  oft 

Obscured  by  many  a  gloomy  shade. 

This  planet  glitters  ever  more. 

And  never  pales  beneath  the  cloud  ; 


252  THE   CATHEMEIIIXOX. 

Not  e'en  a  vapor  spreads  it  o'er, 
To  dim  its  glow  with  misty  shroud. 

Before  that  lovely  Saviour's  star 
Each  planet  now  of  baneful  glare, 

With  fiery  comets  driv'n  afar, 
Is  banish 'd  from  the  burning  air. 

And  lo  !  approaching  from  that  part 
Where  morning's  beam  begins  to  shine, 

Men,  skill'd  in  many  a  mystic  art, 
With  joy  behold  the  royal  sign. 

When  flings  that  star  its  blaze  about, 
All  others  hide  their  fitful  gleams  ; 

Not  ev'n  the  star  of  morn  shines  out, 
With  all  the  splendor  of  his  beams. 

11  Who  is  this  mighty  king,"  they  said, 

I  'That  o'er  the  stars  extends  his  sway," 
"Whom  things  divine  behold  with  dread," 

"  And  all  the  powers  of  heav'n  obey  ?  " 

"  A  wondrous  sight  do  we  descry  " 

II  Which  lives  beyond  the  bounds  of  time,' 
"  Older  than  chaos  and  the  sky," 

11  Mighty,  unspeakable,  sublime  !  " 

It  is  the  king  of  Juda's  trust, 

Whom  all  the  Gentiles  shall  adore, 

Promised  to  Abraham  the  just, 
And  to  his  seed  for  evermore. 


THE   CATHEMERINON. 

That  primal  child  of  faith  and  grace 
By  whom  was  Isaac  freely  giv'n, 

Well  knew  that  his  predestin'd  race 
"Would  number  e'en  the  stars  of  heav'n. 

Now  blossoms  forth  that  royal  Flow'r, 
Which  from  the  root  of  Jesse  springs, 

Whose  sceptre  puts  beneath  its  pow'r, 
All  earthly,  and  all  heav'nly  things. 

Amazed  the  Magi  follow' d  on 

With  eager  eyes  to  heav'n  upturned; 

While  'round  them  full  that  starlight  shone. 
And  o'er  their  radiant  pathway  burnd. 

At  length  that  wonder  of  their  way 

Above  the  holy  Infant  stay'd, 
And  show'd  the  place  with  slanting  ray, 

In  which  his  sacred  form  was  laid. 

And  when  their  eyes  beheld  him  now, 
Their  stores  of  riches  they  unroll  'd, 

And  offer'd  him,  with  many  a  vow, 

Myrrh,  frankincense,  and  sparkling  gold. 

Receive,  sweet  Child  !  those  marks  of  love, 
Which  figure  forth  thy  pow'r,  thy  fame, 

Thou  whom  that  Sire,  enthroned  above, 
Hath  honor  d  with  a  three-fold  name  : 

The  glitter  of  that  golden  hoard 

That  sabine  incense'  sweet  perfume. 
22 


254  THE   CATIIEMERINON. 

Proclaim  thee  mighty  king  and  Lord, 
While  shows  the  myrrh  the  dreary  tomb. 

It  shows  the  tomb  where  God  should  lay 
His  mortal  form  deprived  of  breath, 

Whence  rising  soon  he  spurned  the  clay, 
And  burst  thro'  all  the  bonds  of  death. 

0  Bethlehem,  thou  favor  M  spot  ! 

Thou  noblest  city  of  the  earth  ! 
Above  all  others  'tis  thy  lot 

To  claim  the  great  Redeemer's  birtb. 

It  is  from  thy  maternal  sod 

The  Father  hath  received  his  Son, 

A  man  who  cometh  down  from  God, 
A  God  who  puts  man's  nature  on  : — 

Whom  long  ago  th'  attesting  Sire 
Had  order 'd  to  possess  a  throne, 

Foretold  by  all  the  prophet -choir, 
By  other  voices,  too,  made  known : 

A  throne  which  should  extend  its  sway 
Above  the  sea,  the  shore,  the  sky, 

The  rising  and  the  setting  day, 
And  all  below,  and  all  on  high. 

Herod  the  while  beholds,  with  pain, 
The  glorious  king  of  kings  at  hand, 

Who  comes  on  David's  throne  to  reign. 
And  over  Israel  hold  command. 


THE   CATHEMERIXON.  255 

Raging,  he  gives  his  slaves  the  word — 

11  The  foe  is  nigh,  we  are  no  more, 
:;  Ye  Satellites  !  unsheath  the  sword, 

11  And  make  the  cradles  float  in  gore. 

1 '  Seek  ye  those  nursing  bosoms  all, 
11  To  which  an  infant-man  is  pressed, 

'•Let  every  child  beneath  you  fall 
11  Slain  on  the  suckling  mother's  breast." 

£;  For  Bethlehem  I  do  suspect 

There  wily  women  dwell,  I  know, 
That  would  by  fraudful  means  protect 

The  hateful  person  of  my  foe/' 

With  blades  of  death,  and  breasts  of  ire 
Then  flew  those  slaves  to  deeds  of  blood ; 

The  new-born  babes  transpierc'd  expire. 
And  widely  rolls  the  crimson  flood. 

0  scene  of  horror  unsurpass'd  ! 

The  little  head  all  cloven  lies, 
The  brain  is  o'er  the  pavement  cast, 

And  from  the  sockets  start  the  eyes ; — 

And  while  those  hearts  still  quiv'ring  beat, 
Into  the  dreadful  deep  they're  thrown, 

Where  soon  as  breath  and  water  meet, 
In  death  they  sink  with  feeble  moan. 

Hail,  First  fruits  of  that  fair  array  ! 
Which,  in  religion's  early  hours, 


256  TIIE   CATHEMERINON. 

The  foes  of  Jesus  snatched  away, 
As  blasts  the  gale 'the  op'ning  flow'rs. 

0  victims  of  your  Lord  divine  ! 

The  tend'rest  of  the  martyr-band, 
Ye  stand  arrayed  before  his  shrine, 

And  sing  his  praise  with  psalms  in  hand  1 

But  what  avails  that  bloody  deed  ? 

Ah  !  Herod  !  where  is  now  thy  joy  ? 
A  thousand  victims  'round  thee  bleed, 

But  thou  hast  lost  the  heav'nly  boy. 

The  offspring  of  the  spotless  maid 
Is  all  among  his  slaughter'd  kind, 

Who  flies  the  fury  of  that  blade 
Which  leaves  such  broken  hearts  behind. 

Thus  Moses,  chief  of  Israel's  train, 
The  figure  of  th'  Incarnate  God, 

Frustrated  all  that  edict  vain, 

Which  wicked  Pharaoh  spread  abroad. 

The  cruel  monster  strove  amain 
To  seal  unhappy  Juda's  doom  ; 

For  every  man-child  must  be  slain, 
Soon  as  it  issues  from  the  womb. 

One  matron,  with  a  mother's  love, 
Dared  disobey  the  tyrant's  will, 

And  trusting  in  that  Arm  above, 
By  stealth  preserved  her  offspring  still. 


THE   CATHEMERINON.  257 

And  soon  the  Sov 'reign  king  of  heav'n, 

Made  that  illustrious  child  his  own  ; 
Thro'  him  the  law  of  God  was  giv'n, 

Engraved  on  monuments  of  stone. 

In  such  a  one  who  may  not  see 

Our  gracious  Lord  prefigur'd  plain? 
He  made  the  brave  of  Egypt  flee, 

And  freed  his  race  from  slav'ry's  chain. 

Our  leader  triumphed  over  hell, 

And  brought  us  from  death's  gloomy  shade, 
To  fearful  bondage  doomed  as  well 

Beneath  the  chains  which  sin  had  made. 

Moses  led  on,  with  guidance  sure, 

His  people  hallow 'd  by  the  stream, 
And  cleansed  them  in  the  waters  pure, 

While  o'er  them  shone  the  pillar's  beam. 

Before  the  battle's  dread  array 

He  raised  his  sacred  hands  on  high, 
And  lo !  proud  Amelec  gave  way — 

Type  of  the  Cross's  Victory ! 

But  the  true  Joshua  now  is  here, 

Who  leads  his  own  devoted  band 
After  full  many  a  weary  year, 

Triumphant  to  the  Promised  Land. 

Who  deep  beneath  the  Jordan's  bed, 
Doth  lay  the  twelve  stones  firmly  down, 
22* 


258  THE   CATHEMERINON. 

In  which  th'  Apostles'  names  are  read, 
Whose  glory  is  the  Christian's  crown. 

With  justice,  then,  those  ancient  Wise 
Believed  they  looked  on  Juda's  Lord, 

When  they  beheld  the  prophecies 
With  Jesus'  deeds  so  well  accord. 

He  is  the  King  of  all  those  who 
In  ancient  times  ruled  Jacob's  fold ; 

He  is  the  glorious  monarch,  too, 
Of  the  new  temple  and  the  old. 

Before  him  Ephraim's  children  fall — 
Him  doth  Manasses'  house  adore — 

The  twelve  tribes  honor  him — and  all 
Proclaim  his  praise  from  shore  to  shore. 

Yea,  ev'n  the  heathen's  godless  line 
Once  blinded  by  their  orgies  dire, 

No  more  shall  light  the  demon's  shrine 
With  sacrifice  of  impious  fire. 

The  fabled  Gods  of  former  day, 
Of  wood,  of  metal,  and  of  stone, 

Shall  vanish,  like  a  dream,  away, 
While  Jesus'  faith  shall  stand  alone. 

Then  sing,  ye  Nations  !  joy  and  sing, 
Judea  !  Egypt !  Persia  !  Thrace  ! 

Rome  !  Scythia  !  Greece  !  lo !  one  great  King 
Now  rules  earth's  universal  race. 


THE    CATIIEMERIXOX.  259 

Ye  Saints  !  and  Sinners  !  lift  your  voice, 
And  sound  your  prince's  praise  on  high, 

Living,  and  dead,  and  all  rejoice, 
For  mortal  never  more  shall  die. 


EMANUEL, 

THE    VIE  GIN- BO  liS 

A   POEM   IN   THREE    BOOKS. 


INTRODUCTION. 

From  the  early  part  of  the  fifteenth  Century  down  to  the  glorious  era 
of  classical  literature  in  the  age  of  Leo  X,  many  favorable  circunishm- 
stances  happily  concurred  in  producing  the  restoration  of  ancient  learn- 
ing. Amongst  these  may  be  enumerated  the  great  influx  of  celebrated 
Greek  scholars  into  Italy  and  the  encouragement  which  they  generally 
received  ;  the  newly-created  desire  of  recovering  ancient  manuscripts, 
in  the  pursuit  of  which  no  labor,  no  expense  was  spared ;  the  enthusiasm 
with  which  those  long-lost  treasures  were  hailed  by  the  people  of  Italy ; 
the  eagerness  with  which  they  were  read,  transcribed,  commented  and 
published;  the  establishment  of  public  libraries,  followed  by  the  open- 
ing of  public  seminaries,  where  the  languages  of  Greece  and  Rome 
were  taught  in  all  their  native  purity;  and  finally  the  invention  of  print- 
ing, by  which,  perhaps,  more  than  all  other  causes,  the  progress  of 
classical  learning  was  accelerated  in  an  extraordinary  degree.  Two  of 
the  most  learned  Greeks  to  whom  Italy  and  Europe  were  so  much 
indebted  at  this  period,  were  Demetrius  Cydonius  and  Emman- 
uel Chrtsoloras.  To  the  credit  of  the  Italians  be  it  told,  thatno 
mean  jealousies  nor  petty  national  vanities  prevented  them  from  ac- 
knowledging their  obligations  to  the  learned  strangers.  They  were 
every  where  received  with  distinction  and  ardor,  their  lectures  were 
crowded,  and  their  important  services  in  the  cause  of  literature  were 
transmitted  to  posterity,  through  the  numerous  works  of  their  grateful 


262  INTRODUCTION. 

disciples.  To  Chrysoloras,  in  particular,  the  national  gratitude  seems 
to  have  been  extended.  He  was  treated  with  the  greatest  possible 
respect  during  life;  an  entire  volume  of  eulogies  upon  him  was  written 
after  his  death,  and  in  his  Epitaph  composed  by  Aeneas  Sylvius,  after- 
wards Pius  II,  he  is  termed  the  Revivor  of  Greek  and  Latin  literature. 
When  learning  was  thus  honored  in  the  person  of  its  promoters,  we 
can  easily  account  for  its  rapid  diffusion. 

During  the  middle  ages,  the  treasures  of  classic  lore  were  for  the 
most  part  unknown  to  Europe,  and  the  Manuscripts  which  were  pre- 
served, were  so  costly  and  so  rare,  that  none  but  persons  of  immense- 
wealth  could  enjoy  their  advantages.  Time  was,  when  an  estate 
would  be  exchanged  for  the  possession  of  a  Manuscript,  or  its  loan  pro- 
cured by  the  deposit  of  immense  sums.  Manuscripts  even  became 
important  articles  of  traffic,  and  such  was  the  value  which  was  justly 
attached  to  them,  that  their  transfer,  whether  by  sale  or  loan,  was,  with 
all  its  conditions,  duly  inscribed  in  the  public  registries.  A  thirst  for  their 
possession  was  most  naturally  created  at  the  restoration  of  letters,  to 
gratify  which,  long  journeys  were  performed,  tedious  voyages  under- 
taken, and  princely  fortunes  expended.  The  pioneers  of  literature 
speedily  commenced  their  arduous  and  persevering  labors  in  every 
corner  of  Europe  and  Asia.  They  ransacked  every  city,  and  library, 
and  church  and  convent.  The  rottenness  of  ages  was  dug  up  and  ex- 
amined. The  mine  of  antiquity  was  carefully  explored,  and  amidst 
the  dross  and  rubbish  several  jewels  of  priceless  value  rewarded  the 
commendable  diligence  of  their  anxious  captors,  for  every  new  classic 
given  to  the  world  was  hailed  with  as  much  delight  as  the  acquisition 
of  a  province.  Such  was  the  assistance  afforded  to  these  enquiries  by 
men  of  wealth  and  influence,  that  we  are  assured  by  Niccolo  Leoniceno 
in  his  letter  to  Politiano  that  Lorenzo  de  Medici,  the  grand  Maecenas 
of  his  age,  had  messengers  dispersed  throughout  every  part  of  the  earth 
for  the  purpose  of  collecting  books  on  every  science,  and  that  he  spared 
no  expense  in  procuring  all  possible  materials  for  the  use  of  men  of 
genius.  Nay,  such  was  the  glorious  enthusiasm  of  this  extraordinary 
man,  that  he  wished  the  diligence  of  his  learned  collectors  might  ex- 
haust all  his  fortune  in  the  purchase  of  Manuscripts,  so  that  he  might  be 
afforded  the  opportunity  of  pledging  even  his  furniture  to  obtain  them. 
Cosmo  de  Medeci,  Poggio,  Aurispa,  Guarino,  Filefo,  Niccolo  Niccoli, 
Pope  Nicholas  V,  Corviuo,  Kiug  of  Hungary,  Federigo,  Duke  of  Urbi- 


INTRODUCTION.  263 

no,  and  Politiano,  and  Pico,  the  able  and  learned  assistants  of  the  mu- 
nificent Lorenzo,  have  all  been  rivals  in  this  search  after  ancient  knowl- 
edge, and  have  rendered  the  latest  posterity  their  debtors  by  the  inval- 
uable relics  of  antiquity  which  they  have  bequeathed  us.  Nicholas  V, 
when  an  humble  clergyman,  the  son  of  a  poor  physician  at  Sarzana, 
burned  with  the  desire  of  collecting  those  venerable  remains.  His 
industry  and  learning  frequently  contributed  to  the  gratification  of  his 
wishes.  He  was  often  tempted,  in  the  ardor  of  his  pursuit,  to  exceed 
his  very  moderate  income,  but  the  esteem  and  affection  of  his  friends 
preserved  him  from  pecuniary  difficulties.  Being  raised  to  the  chair  of 
St.  Peter,  he  had  ample  opportunities  of  indulging  his  useful  predilec- 
tions, and  in  the  short  space  of  eight  years,  during  which  he  governed 
the  Holy  See,  he  collected  more  than  five  thousand  volumes  of  Greek 
and  Roman  authors,  and  secured  for  himself  an  enduring  fame  by 
founding  the  noble  library  of  the  Vatican. 

The  establishment  of  those  public  libraries  in  various  parts  of  Italy 
was  also  instrumental  in  diffusing  a  general  taste  for  the  ancient  authors. 
Their  works  were  thus  rendered  easy  of  access,  and  distinguished  men 
in  every  rank  of  life  were  enabled  to  unlock  the  valuable  stores  of  an- 
tiquity and  feast  their  minds  on  the  productions  of  kindred  genius. 
The  memorable  invention  of  printing  added  an  overwhelming  impulse 
to  the  onward  progress  of  literary  and  classic  taste.  Editions  of  the 
ancient  authors  appeared  in  rapid  succession,  and  were  devoured  by 
innumerable  readers,  whose  mental  appetite  was  sharpened  by  the  long 
literary  famine  through  which  they  had  passed.  One  of  the  earliest 
attempts  of  the  Italian  scholars  was  to  translate  into  Latin  the  most  cel- 
ebrated Greek  authors.  As  the  classic  rage  proceeded,  the  beauties  of 
both  Latin  and  Greek  writers  were  sought  to  be  transfused  into  the  ver- 
nacular tongue.  They  admired,  they  commented,  they  translated,  and 
at  length  they  dared  to  imitate  the  models  of  their  veneration.  Several 
eminent  Latin  writers  speedily  appeared.  Florence  was  distinguished 
peculiarly  in  the  field  of  Latin  poetry,  and  the  reputation  acquired  by 
her  renowned  children,  was  emulated  by  other  places  of  Italy.  A  long 
array  of  writers  justly  celebrated  in  this  department  of  literature,  might 
be  easily  paraded.  But  passing  over  so  many  hallowed  names  which 
grace  the  revival  of  ancient  learning,  and  mellowed,  retouched  and  re- 
vived the  paintings  of  classic  song,  we  come  to  the  author  of  the  fol- 
lowing exquisite  Poem,  whose  brilliant  genius,  both  in  Italian  and  Latin 


264  INTRODUCTION. 

Poetry,  has  renewed  and  perpetuated  the  ancient  glories  of  the  delight- 
ful vicinity  of  Naples,  and  immortalized  that  already  classic  ground. 

He  was  born  at  Naples,  in  1458,  and  gave  early  indications  of  that 
M  Mens  divinior"  of  poesy  which  he  indubitably  possessed.  Frederick, 
King  of  Naples,  was  his  munificent  patron,  and  on  account  of  his  dis- 
tinguished talents  and  graceful  manners,  conferred  upon  him  many 
marks  of  his  esteem.  When  his  kind  benefactor  in  despair  of  re-as- 
cending the  throne,  resolved  to  leave  Italy,  he  was  accompanied  into 
France  by  our  poet,  who  remained  with  him  until  his  death,  in  1504. 
He  then  returned  to  his  native  country,  where,  it  is  said,  he  divided  his 
time  between  amusement  and  poetry.  He  is  represented  to  have  been  of 
the  most  cheerful  disposition,  and  to  have  preserved  even  in  his  old  age, 
all  the  vivacity,  and  some  of  the  levity  of  youth.  The  retreat  of  his 
charming  Villa  Mergyllina,  the  judicious  gift  of  his  royal  patron,  was 
eminently  suited  for  the  successful  cultivation  of  the  Muses.  Here  he 
revelled  in  all  the  loveliness  of  the  most  enchanting  scenery,  and  seemed 
to  rekindle  the  fire  of  youth  and  genius  in  that  sunny  clime,  which 
teems  with  so  many  natural  beauties  of  the  highest  order.  To  this  be- 
loved retirement  he  makes  frequent  allusion  in  his  poems.  His  affec- 
tions were  so  deeply  rivetted  to  this  classic  spot,  that  when  Philibert, 
of  Nassau,  who  commanded  the  Emperor's  army  at  the  celebrated 
seige  of  Naples,  by  the  French,  destroyed  his  beloved  villa  either  thro' 
necessity  or  wanton  caprice,  the  irritated  Poet  conceived  an  inexorable 
hatred  towards  the  Prince  of  Orange.  His  mortification  at  the  loss  was 
so  great  that  it  brought  on  a  severe  illness,  which  terminated  in  death  in 
1530,  at  the  advanced  age  of  72.  He  was  interred  in  a  handsome 
chapel,  which  is  built  on  the  ruins  of  Mergyllina,  and  the  following 
complimentary  epitaph  was  composed  by  that  accomplished  scholar, 
Cardinal  Bembo  : — 

"  Da  sacro  oineri  flores.    Hie  ille  Maroni, 

Sincerus  musa  proxiinus  ut  tuniulo." 

Go  scatter  flow'rs  above  his  sacred  brow, 

lie  sang  like  Maro  once,  he  sleeps  by  Maro  now. 

This  comparison,  so  honorable  to  his  fame,  is  enhanced  by  the  con- 
sideration that  it  was  made  by  one  who  from  his  own  classic  taste  was 
fully  competent  to  pronounce  upon  his  merits.  It  will  be  recollected 
that  the  far-famed  tomb  of  Virgil  is  in  the  vicinity  of  Mergyllina — a 
circumstance  which  will  serve  to  explain  the  allusion  of  the  epitaph. 


INTRODUCTION.  2G5 

He  left  several  works  both  in  Latin  and  Italian.  Among  the  most 
remarkable  of  his  compositions,  is  his  "Arcadia,"  in  verse  and  prose, 
which  is  greatly  admired  for  the  beauty  of  its  images,  and  the  graceful 
delicacy  of  its  language.  We  have  also  from  his  pen  a  Lamentation 
on  the  death  of  Christ,  Eclogues,  Three  Books  of  Elogies,  and  the 
splendid  Poem  on  the  OtFspring  of  the  Virgin,  which  is  the  principal 
monument  of  his  fame  and  genius.  The  elegance  and  purity  of  ita 
style,  the  harmony  of  its  verses,  the  rich  profusion  of  its  brilliant  images 
and  lofty  sentiments,  have  always  commanded  the  admiration  of  the 
most  accurate  critics,  as  well  as  of  all  true  lovers  of  poetry. 

Sannazar  is,  however,  censured  by  strict  christian  moralists  for  hav- 
ing profane  1  the  sanctity  of  his  subject  by  the  stiange  admixture  of 
Pagan  extravagancies  with  the  august  mysteries  of  religion.  The 
poem,  they  allege,  is  rilled  with  heathen  divinities,  and  its  machinery 
constructed  of  Pagan  materials.*  It  is  observed  that  he  places  the 
Sibylline  books  in  the  hands  of  the  Virgin,  iustead  of  the  Psalms,  and 
that  neither  David,  nor  Isaias,  but  the  fabulous  Proteus  is  made  to 
foretel  the  sublime  mystery  of  the  Incarnation.  These,  and  similar 
animadversions,  justifiable  though  they  seem,  will,  on  dispassionate 
consideration,  prove  to  be  too  severe.  Great  allowance  must  be  made 
for  the  prevailing  taste  of  the  age,  for  the  new-born  and  fervent  ad- 
miration of  ancient  models,  for  the  pure  classic  atmosphere  which  every 
author  of  the  time  almost  unconsciously  breathed.  Moreover,  words 
being  the  signs  of  ideas,  it  mattered  little  what  peculiar  terms  were 
employed  by  the  poet,  provided  his  meaning  was  fully  understood. 
There  was  not  in  his  day  the  remotest  possibility  of  the  contrary,  and 
hence  to  judge  of  him  with  impartial  candor  we  must  transport  our- 
selves in  imagination  to  the  age  in  which  he  flourished.  We  would 
thus  share  in  the  admiration  of  his  contemporaries,  be  identified  with 
the  spirit  of  the  times,  and  learn  to  decide  on  the  merits  of  our  poet,  not 
according  to  the  fastidious  standard  of  modern  days,  when  the  collected 
wisdom  of  three  centuries,  through  the  medium  of  the  press,  has  pruned 
down  the  luxuriance  of  genius  and  fancy  with  almost  mathematical 
precision,  but  by  the  just  criterion  of  the  remarkable  period  when  he 

*The  Translator,  in  his  version  of  the  passages  alluded  to  here,  has  cautiously  ab- 
stained from  introducing  any  thing  that  would  savor  of  heathen  mythology.  Think- 
ing it  to  be  more  in  accordance  with  the  subject,  he  has,  in  those  particular  places, 
translated  with  a  good  deal  of  freedom,  and  employed  nothing  but  purely  christian 
terms. 

23 


26$  INTRODUCTION. 

lived,  and  when,  after  the  comparative  gloom  of  centurie*,  the  glorious 
light  of  science  burst  forth  in  dazzling  and  meridian  splendor.  Surely, 
if  ever  a  departure  from  the  rigid  canons  of  taste  could  hope  for  an 
apology,  it  would  be  at  an  era  like  this,  when  so  remarkable  a  transi- 
tion was  taking  place  throughout  the  literary  world.  Viewing  him  in 
this  light,  we  can  easily  discern  an  apology  for  his  alledged  defects. 
The  Sibylline  books  in  the  Virgin's  hand  will  be  at  once  understood  of 
the  sacred  pages  of  the  ancient  law  ;  the  description  of  Acheron  will 
be  the  representation  of  hell  ;  the  inferior  Gods  of  heathen  creation 
will  be  transformed  into  the  beautiful  spirits  and  ministering  angels  of 
heaven  ;  Olympus  and  the  New  Jerusalem  will  he  convertible  terms; — 
in  a  word  the  skilful  poet  will  be  seen  throughout  to  raise  trophies  in 
honor  of  the  Christian  Religion  from  the  spoils  of  Paganism,  just,  as 
in  another  sense,  the  temples  of  ancient  Greece  and  Rome  were 
changed  into  Christian  churches  and  purified  from  the  abominations  of 
idolatry,  by  being  consecrated  to  the  worship  of  the  true  and  living  God* 
These  reflection*,  if  they  do  not  justify  the  poet,  may  at  least  mitigate 
the  severity  of  his  accusers.  But  even  admitting  the  existence  of  a 
few  defects,  who  can  overlook  the  matchless  beauties  that  pervade  this 
truly  Virgilian  Poem  ?  Sannazar  obtained  the  approbation  of  all  the 
learned  men  of  his  day,  and  was  honored  by  the  most  complimentary 
Briefs  from  Clement  VII,  and  Leo  X.  His  composition  is  styled  a 
"Divine  Poem"  by  Cardinal  Giles  of  Viterbo,  and  this  excellent 
judge  declares  that  he  yields  to  none  of  the  ancients  in  strength  of 
genius.  "For  what,"  said  he,  in  writing  to  the  Poet,  "can  be  more 
elegant  than  the  exordium  ?  What  more  sublime  than  the  conception 
of  the  Virgin?  What,  more  wonderful  than  the  astonishment  of  heaven, 
earth,  and  hell,  at  this  extraordinary  event  ?  What  more  joyful  than 
the  exultation  of  Simeon  ?  What  more  cruel  than  the  massacre  of  the 
Innocents  ?  What  more  terrrble  than  the  picture  of  an  expiring  God  ? 
What  more  delightful  than  his  resurrection  from  the  tomb?  What 
more  happy  than  his  triumphant  return  to  heaven  laden  with  his  glori- 
ous spoils  ?  "  He  goes  on  to  recount  the  many  other  happy  descrip- 
tions with  which  the  poem  abounds,  and  concludes  by  calling  it  a 
"learned,  holy,  and  pious  work,"  for  which  its  author  might  expect  an 
eternal  reward  in  the  life  to  come.  There  may  be  some  partiality  in 
these  favorable  testimonies,  but  certainly  that  which  has  obtained  the 
sanction  of  such  illustrious  names  should  not  be  too  hastily  censured. 


INTRODUCTION.  267 

The  writer  has  often  lamented  that  this,  and  similar  productions 
of  our  eminent  Christian  poets  are  so  little  known  in  these  countries, 
and  he  has  frequently  thought  a  judicious  selection  of  them  might  be 
used  with  great  advantage  in  these  seminaries  and  schools  where  it  is 
considered  desirable  to  blend  religious  instruction  with  the  study  of 
profane  learning.  He  also  believes  it  to  be  an  act  of  justice  to  the 
Church  of  which  he  glories  in  being  a  member,  to  exhibit  to  her  oppo- 
nents the  splendid  achievements  cf  her  children  in  this  as  well  as  every 
other  department  of  the  arts  and  sciences.  The  sublime  conceptions 
which  spring  from  the  genius  of  Catholicity  will  be  seen  to  animate  the 
verses  of  her  poets,  exalt  and  purify  the  strains  of  her  musicians,  and 
to  transfuse  into  the  glowing  canvass  of  her  painters  the  divine  beauty 
and  unfading  glories  of  immortal  life. 

Should  the  present  attempt  be  favorably  received,  the  Translator  will 
publish  a  series  of  Christian  Latin  Classics,  including  Santolius  Victo- 
rious, Sarbievius,  Vida,  Sedulius,  &c,  as  he  considers  the  publication 
of  such  ornaments  of  the  Clnistian  church  would  be  equally  beneficial 


//>//'/  .-    A 


/,/    //y     ?y«j    /■<■'/>'      wy       <<,<"/-/ - 


/ 


EMANUEL, 

THE    VIRGIN-BORN 


BOOK    FIRST 


ARGUMENT. 

The  Invocation.  The  decree  respecting  the  coming  of  the  Saviour. 
The  mission  of  the  Archangel  Gabriel.  The  Annunciation.  The 
Virgin's  astonishment  at  the  unexpected  tidings.  Her  obedience  to 
the  divine  will.  The  Conception.  The  Redeemer's  coming  made 
known  to  the  just  spirits  "  who  were  in  prison."  Their  eager  antici- 
pations of  their  long  expected  happiness.  David  supposed  to  prophecy 
there  the  visit  of  the  Magi.  Simeon's  embracing  the  Lord.  The  mur- 
der of  the  Holy  Innocents.  The  flight  into  Egypt.  Various  events  in 
the  Life  of  Christ.     His  passion  and  death.    The  Ascension. 


Awake,  awake,  and  sing,  my  tuneful  lyre  ! 

The  Virgin-born,  coeval  with  his  Sire ; 

Who,  having  left  his  beatific  reign, 

From  sinful  mortal  wash'd  the  primal  stain, 

And  open'd  wide  the  long-obstructed  way 

That  stood  between  us  and  eternal  day. 

And  here,  0  Muses  !  all  the  bard's  delight, 

Your  shades  I  summon  and  your  fountains  bright ; 
23*  6     ' 


270  EMANUEL. 

Yc,  too,  inherit  an  immortal  name, 

Boast  virgin-lives,  and  love  unsullied  fame  ; 

0  lend  your  fire,  assist  my  vent'rous  flight, 

And  ope  to  me  the  gates  of  life  and  light ; — 

Yc  saw  the  grotto  where  the  Babe  hath  lain, 

Ye  heard  the  music  of  the  Spirits'  strain, 

Beheld  the  glory  of  the  gentile  star, 

And  the  wise  kings  who  wandered  from  afar. 

And  Mother  thou  !  sweet  object  of  our  love  ! 

Man's  hope  below,  delight  of  saints  above, 

On  whom  the  glitt'ring  hosts  of  heav'n  attend — 

Unnumber'd  banners — chariots  without  end — 

The  trump's  shrill  breath — the  clarion's  ringing  cry- 

And  all  the  shining  army  of  the  sky : — 

If  e'er  with  flow'rs  I  dress 'd  thy  hallow'd  fane, 

Or  rear'd  thee  altars  by  the  foaming  main, 

O'er  which  my  Mergyllina  tow'rs  on  high 

A  sea-mark  to  the  passing  sailor's  eye — 

Or  if  I  e'er  to  thee  and  to  thy  praise 

Pay  solemn  rites,  and  pealing  anthems  raise, 

Whene'er  is  celebrated  through  the  earth 

The  wondrous  mystery  of  the  Saviour's  birth, 

Weak  as  I  am,  and  wand' ring  on  my  way, 

0  guide  my  efforts,  and  inspire  my  lay. 

The  king  of  kings  had,  from  his  blissful  world, 
Seen  mankind  long  to  hell's  destruction  hurl'd, 
Beheld  the  foe  his  utmost  pow'rs  employ 
To  snare  all  hearts,  and  ev'ry  soul  destroy ; 
In  vain  man's  spirit  boasted  deathless  power, 
Its  glorious  birth  was  now  a  bootless  dower  ; 


EMANUEL.  271 

la  vain  it  tow  Yd.  and  shone  in  deeds  sublime — 

Such  were  the  dire  effects  of  our  primeval  crime  ! 

Inflamed  at  length  with  love  of  Adam's  race, 

Thus  spoke  the  Godhead  from  the  throne  of  grace : 

"  For  ever  thus  shall  men  be  left  to  groan  ! 

Why  for  the  father  should  the  sons  atone  ? 

Shall  those  I  made  to  shine  in  endless  day 

The  partners,  peers  of  this  divine  array — 

Be  still  condemn'd  to  seek  the  shades  below, 

And  live  the  victims  of  eternal  woe  1 

It  may  not  be.     No  longer  shall  they  mourn  ! 

The  weary  exiles  shall  in  joy  return ; 

Again  shall  they  with  happy  spirits  dwell, 

To  fill  the  vacant  thrones  of  those  who  fell ; 

And  as  through  woman  all  those  causes  rose 

That  flood  the  world  with  perils,  fears  and  woes, 

So  now  in  woman  aid  in  turn  be  found, 

And  peace,  and  love,  and  gladness  reign  around." 

He  said — and  called  a  messenger  of  light, 

With  brow  of  flame,  and  pinions  heav'nly  bright, 

And  thus  commands  the  spirit  who  should  bear 

The  joyful  tidings  to  the  Pure  and  Fair  : 

' l  Thou  who  art  called  the  harbinger  of  love, 

And  guide  and  guardian  of  the  hosts  above, 

With  fallen  man,  Archangel  !  it  is  thine 

To  make  our  peace,  and  form  a  league  divine  ; 

Give  thy  attention  to  our  high  behest, 

And  be  it  treasur'd  in  thine  inmost  breast : 

Between  the  Phaenicia  and  the  Jordan,  lies 

A  land  where  many  of  our  altars  rise, 

A  sacred  spot — Judea  is  its  name, 


272  EMANUEL. 

Renowned  for  sapient  laws  and  martial  fame ; 

Within  that  land  a  maiden  lives,  who  springs 

From  a  long  line  of  prophets  and  of  kings, 

Who,  though  united  to  a  worthy  spouse, 

Still  for  our  sake  preserves  her  virgin  vows, 

And  lives  retir'd,  and  rests  her  lonely  head 

On  lonely  couch  beneath  the  humblest  shed, 

Yet  fit  to  grace  the  councils  of  the  Blest, 

And  share  the  joys  of  heav'n's  eternal  rest. 

Before  all  time  we  chose,  with  special  grace, 

From  out  all  members  of  the  vestal  race 

This  sacred  maiden  as  alone  the  one 

Who  free  from  ev'ry  stain,  should  bear  our  only  Son. 

Decending  swiftly  through  the  liquid  air 

Haste  on  thy  way  and  to  the  maid  repair  ; 

Breathe  the  blest  accents  to  her  virgin  ear, 

Dispel  her  doubts,  and  banish  all  her  fear  ; 

It  is  our  mercy  to  redeem  man's  soul, 

And  free  the  world  from  sorrow's  dark  control." 

Thus  He.     The  Spirit  at  the  order  flies 
On  zephyrs  wafted  thro'  the  trackless  skies, 
Sails  by  the  clouds,  and  shoots  along  in  light, 
His  plume  scarce  moving  in  his  downward  flight. 
As  when  a  swan  has  from  on  high  descried 
Meandra's  stream,  or  Chrysta's  ample  tide, 
On  her  fleet  course  precipitate  she  springs, 
Tho'  seeming  motionless,  and  void  of  wings, 
Until  she  gains  the  wished-for  wave,  at  last, — 
Thro'  air,  thro'  cloud,  thus  swift  the  herald  passed  : 


EMANUEL.  273 

And  when,  sublime,  he  touch' d  the  sacred  ground, 
Where  stands  Idumea,  with  palm  trees  crowned, 
Deep  fixed  in  thoughts  that  all  her  soul  engage 
He  finds  the  maid  bent  o'er  the  heav'nly  page, 
Attentive  seeking  if  her  eye  may  find 
Aught  that  the  Prophets  for  her  race  divin'd ; 
For  she  had  heard  a  period  would  arise 
In  which,  descending  from  the  starry  skies. 
The  holy  spirit  of  her  God  would  come, 
And  make  abode  within  a  virgin's  womb  : 
How  doth  she  shine  in  sainted  beauty,  now  ! 
What  heav"nly  awe  is  on  her  radiant  brow  ! — 
She  sits  and  breathes  in  modesty  profound, 
With  her  sweet  eyes  fixed  steadfast  on  the  ground, 
And  while  in  thought  she  lauds  that  maid  on  high, 
And  deems  her  some  fair  daughter  of  the  sky, 
She  looks  all  love,  and  hails,  on  bended  knee, 
The  mother  of  the  coming  Deity, 
Still,  still  unconscious  while  she  worships  there, 
That  she  herself  shall  all  that  honor  share. 

Meantime,  arriving  from  the  upper  spheres, 
Full  in  her  view  the  Messenger  appears  ; 
By  his  bright  entrance,  and  his  radiant  vest, 
In  all  his  pomp  the  Seraph  stands  confessed ; 
Above  the  maid  his  golden  wing  he  spreads, 
And  o'er  the  scene  celestial  odor  sheds. 
"  Hail,  lovely  light!  thrice  welcome  to  those  eyes  ! 
(Thus  to  the  Queen  the  bright  Archangel  cries;) 
"  0  Star  of  heav'n  !  0  Virgin  ever  blest ! 
Upon  whose  head  all  benedictions  rest ! 


274  EMANUEL. 

3 

Thou  o'er  whose  soul  the  virtues  brightly  shine, 

That  flow  abundant  from  the  source  divine ; 

In  whom  the  wisdom  of  the  skies  is  found, 

And  grace  and  truth  in  living  streams  abound  ! 

Behold  !  the  Lord  of  majesty  and  sway, 

Who  ever  guides  the  planets  in  their  way, 

Hath  sanctified  thee  with  his  powerful  grace, 

And  in  thy  bosom  fixed  his  dwelling  place ; 

Thou  shalt  be  honor' d  among  women,  now, 

And  throughout  everlasting  ages — Thou, 

With  whose  acclaim,  by  myriad  angels  sung, 

The  courts  of  heav'n  eternally  have  rung : 

What  joy  thou'lt  bring  to  many  a  sorrowing  heart  ! 

What  peace  thou'lt  sow,  what  pow'rful  aid  impart !" 

Th'  astonished  maiden  sudden  stood  aghast  ; 

Her  heart,  astounded,  flutter 'd  wild  and  fast ; 

Her  eyes  fell  heavy — faintness  o'er  her  came, 

And  a  cold  fear  ran  freezing  thro'  her  frame. 

Like  some  young  Fair,  who,  gathering  shells  on  shore, 

Sees  suddenly  some  swift  sail  gliding  o'er, 

A  fearful  tremor  strikes  thro'  all  her  breast, 

She  dares  not  gather  up  her  floating  vest, 

To  haste  away,  and  join  her  sister-bands, 

But  pale,  and  still,  and  motionless  she  stands. 

The  sail  bears  onward,  fraught  with  spicy  stores, 

From  Araby's  or  Canopy's  blest  shores ; 

To  none  indeed  it  carries  grief  or  pain, 

But  harmless  skims  along  the  sparkling  main. 

c:  0  chase  thy  fears,"  resumed  the  Spirit,  whence 

Flow  forth  such  streams  of  hcav'n-born  eloquence, 


EMANUEL.  275 

Whose  charming  spell  could  bid  the  tempest  sleep, 
And  softest  silence  settle  on  the  deep ; 

I  ■  Thou  shalt  conceive,  and  shalt  bring  forth  a  Son 
Adored  by  all  around  Jehovah's  throne  ; 
Celestial  joys  shall  follow  in  his  train, 

And  peace  for  ever  thro'  the  world  shall  reign.- 

I  am  the  harbinger  of  the  Most  High, 

Sent  with  prophetic  message  from  the  sky  ; 

No  fraud  I  know,  no  falsehood  I  declare, 

For  these  are  arts  which  have  no  dwelling  there. 

And  thou,  G  Virgin  !  shall  hereafter  see 

The  many  glories  of  thy  Progeny  : 

O'er  all  his  race  victorious  he  shall  shine, 

And  sway  the  sceptre  of  his  Father's  line. 

His  royal  rule  shall  o'er  all  climes  extend, 

And  of  his  kingdom  there  shall  be  no  end. 

The  pagan  altar  shall  be  made  no  more 

All  red  and  reeking  with  unholy  gore, 

But  true  Religion  shall  triumphant  rise, 

And  pierce  with  countless  spires  the  yielding  skies. " 

He  spoke.     The  maiden  calmVl  her  troubled  breast, 
And  mildly  thus  these  accents  brief  address'd  : — 

II  What  words  are  these,  bright  Angel !  can  it  be 
That  human  passion  ne'er  shall  sully  me — 

Me  bound  by  bands  which  nought  can  ee'r  untie, 
Till  death  itself  shall  shroud  my  closing  eye, 
In  whose  sweet  bondage  I  would  still  remain, 
Nor  ever  wish  to  loose  the  pleasing  chain  ?" 

The  radiant  Messenger  thus  made  reply  : — 

"  Doubt  not  the  truths  I  bring  thee  from  on  hi^h  : 


276  EMANUEL. 

The  holy  spirit  of  eternal  light 

Descending  down  from  yon  empyreal  height, 

Shall  come  upon  thee  with  divine  increase, 

And  make  thee  mother  of  the  Prince  of  Peace. 

With  deep  amaze  shalt  thou  behold  the  sight, 

Thro'  all  thy  soul  experience  strange  affright ; 

At  length,  rejoicing,  thou  shalt  chase  thy  fear, 

And  still  preserve  intact  that  dower  to  thee  so  dear. 

Nor  deem  it  strange,  nor  hold  these  words  untrue, 

Sterility  itself  shall  blossom,  too ; 

Thy  sister  near,  altho'  beyond  the  stage 

Of  bearing  now,  and  far  advanced  in  age, 

Within  her  womb  contains  a  pledge  of  love, 

For  nought  surpasses  him  who  reigns  in  might  above." 

The  Queen  (this  spoken)  raising  her  sweet  eyes, 

Gives  thanks  to  Heav'n,  and  thus  enraptur'd  cries : — 

11  0  Faith  !  0  Will !  0  ye  shall  conquer  now ; 

Before  thee,  Father  !  tremblingly  I 'bow; 

Thy  law  I  hear,  thy  high  command  believe, 

Nor  is  it  thine,  fair  vision  !  to  deceive  ; 

The  brow,  form,  features,  words  and  all  accord, 

Proclaiming  each  the  herald  of  the  Lord." 

She  said,  and  lo  !  a  lustre  heav'nly  bright 

Bursts  in,  and  fills  the  dome  with  dazzling  light ; 

Unable  to  behold  the  blazing  ray, 

Her  heart  beats  high  with  terrible  dismay, 

When,  (greatest  of  all  prodigies)  behold ! 

(No  strange  false  doctrines  in  my  strain  are  told,) 

Untouched,  unstain'd,  she  feels  her  sacred  womb 

The  shrine  of  him  who  rules  the  world  to  come ; 


EMANUEL.  277 

The  radiant  Essence  streaming  from  above — 

The  mighty  Lord,  the  universal  Love — 

The  God  of* God  upon  the  maid  descends. 

Flows  thro'  her  frame,  and  with  her  being  blends  ! 

Her  heart,  her  limbs  with  wild  commotion  thrill; 

?Tis  silence  all — e'en  Nature's  self  is  still ; 

And  thus  aghast,  amazed,  she  strives  to  know 

Whence  all  those  marvels  and  those  mysteries  flow. 

Far  other  prodigies  now  rise  around ; 

A  mighty  tumult  shakes  the  solid  ground ; 

Th'  eternal  Father  of  the  earth  and  sky 

Loud  from  the  left  bid  deaf  :ning  thunders  fly. 

That  ev'ry  country  'round  which  ocean  roars — 

Thety's  and  Amphitrite's  concave  shores — 

All  the  vast  surface  of  the  peopled  earth 

Might  hear,  and  hail  the  promis'd  Saviour's  birth. 

While  these  dread  sounds  on  every  side  are  heard. 
Swift  from  the  earth  there  springs  a  beauteous  bird, 
And  as  up  heav'n's  etherial  height  he  sails, 
And  sweeps  the  pathway  of  the  winged  gales, 
Soars  o'er  the  clouds,  and  mixes  with  the  skies. 
The  virgin  sees,  and  thus  imploring  cries : — 
"  0  Bird,  thou  glory  of  th'  serial  way  ! 
That  soar'st  aloft  amid  the  blaze  of  day, 
That  rising  joyous  leav'st  the  clouds  behind, 
Outstripping  far  the  pinions  of  the  wind ; 
0  whether  now  thou  wing'st  thy  glad  career . 
To  some  unknown,  and  some  far  distant  sphere, 
Where  bright  stars  beam,  and  blazing  planets  burn. 
Awaiting  there  to  welcome  thy  return ; 
24 


278  EMANUEL. 

Or  where  there  flashes  some  elysian  home 
In  chrystal  bow'r,  or  glass-resplendent  dome, 
Where  love  attends  thee,  with  its  gentle  care, 
And  liquid  light  illumines  all  the  air  ; 
0  far  away  amid  thy  world  of  sky, 
Fly,  mighty  Warbler !  I  conjure  thee,  fly, 
And  be  my  witness,  and  defend  from  shame 
The  spotless  virtue  of  my  virgin-name.*' 

Meanwhile  the  tidings  of  redemption  spread 

Throughout  the  regions  of  the  righteous  dead. 

Console  the  exiles  with  th'  approaching  day, 

When  their  captivity  shall  pass  away, 

And  lo  !  already  make  the  faithful  bands 

Grasp  at  the  dawning  bliss,  and  heav'nward  stretch  their 

hands. 
Now  comes  the  hero  of  the  harp  and  sling, 
The  royal  minstrel,  the  prophetic  king, 
And  as  he  wanders  o'er  those  shady  bounds, 
And  with  the  diadem  his  head  surrounds, 
And  gathers  flowers  from  Lethe's  sullen  side, 
Whose  dreary  waves  in  calmest  stillness  glide, 
Where,  deep  among  the  sterile  boughs  unstirr'cl. 
In  endless  silence  sits  each  gloomy  bird ; 
Laboring  beneath  that  wonderful  control 
That,  with  prophetic  rage,  fills  all  the  soul, 
.  lie  strikes  the  harp,  and  heav'nward  turning  sings 
The  truthful  order  of  forthcoming  things. 

•  0  Thou  who  shalt.  as  God  himself  ordains, 
Bear  many  woes,  and  free  us  from  our  chains, 


EMANUEL.  279 

Whose  glorious  spoils  this  ruined  realm  shall  grace 

— So  long  the  prison  of  a  hapless  race. — 

Sweet  Boy  !  arise  ! — if  e'er  in  days  of  old, 

To  mortal  ear  thy  coming  we  foretold, 

When,  filled  with  thee,  we  rais'd  our  solemn  strain, 

And  to  the  nations  prophecied  thy  reign. 

He  comes, — he  comes  in  light  and  beauty,  now, 

And  peace  is  smiling  on  his  placid  brow ; 

Illustrious  monarchs,  influenc'd  from  above, 

From  far  come  forth  to  hail  the  Lord  of  love. 

Hail,  happy  Aethiopians  !  hail  again, 

Association  of  thrice  holy  men  ! 

Who  saw  the  star,  and  left  your  homes  to  bring 

Your  choicest  blessings  to  your  Infant-King. 

Accept  the  precious  store,  0  beauteous  Boy  ! 

And  thou,  blest  mother  !  lift  thy  soul  in  joy ! 

Tribes,  tongues  and  leaders  shall,  from  ev'ry  shore, 

Do  honor  to  thy  name  for  evermore." 

"And  what  seeks  he.  the  venerable  sage 
In  shining  garb,  and  far  advanced  in  age, 
Who  holds  the  child  within  his  fond  embrace, 
Amid  the  precincts  of  the  Holy  Place, 
And  loud  exclaims,  while  to  the  glowing  sky 
He  lifts  in  thanks  his  joy-illumined  eye, 
That  he  at  last  exults  in  his  release, 
And  from  the  noisy  world  departs  in  peace, 
Blest  with  the  bliss  of  living  to  behold 
The  life,  the  light,  the  Saviour  long  foretold  1 

11  And  now  what  means  this  direful  scene  of  blood, 


280  (     EMANUEL. 

That  dyes  the  hearthstones  with  its  purple  flood, 
And  makes  the  rivers  crimson  as  they  flow  1 
Whence  these  wild  shrieks  of  terror  and  of  woe  ? 
Inhuman  king!  what  havoc  dost  thou,  say  ? 
Why  cleav'st  thou  thus,  thro'  Innocence,  thy  way? 
They  have  not  merited  this  outrage  dire, 
And  he  thou  seek'st  shall  fly  thy  hellish  ire. 
Then,  0  ye  weeping  mothers  !  hence  away, 
And  leave  this  hapless  land  while  yet  ye  may  ; 
Within  your  bosoms  hide  your  offspring  dear  ; 
Oh  !  fly — Oh  !  fly — the  frantic  foe  is  near  ! 
And — royal  Virgin !  to  the  Egyptian  lands 
Bear  thou  thy  child — the  Lord  of  all  commands  ; 
Haste  on  thy  journey — thitherward  repair  ; 
A  safe  retreat  and  peace  await  thee  there. 
When  twice  six  seasons  have  at  last  flown  o'er, 
And  flight  and  slaughter  will  be  fear'd  no  more, 
Deep  sighs  shall  issue  from  thy  soul ;  and  thou 
Shalt  weary  heaven  with  many  an  ardent  vow. 
In  vain  wilt  thou,  each  devious  path  explored, 
Expect  thy  offspring  at  the  frugal  board ; 
In  vain  the  gentle  boy  thou' It  hope  to  see, 
To  share  thy  kisses,  climb  thy  parent  knee  ; 
The  shades  of  midnight  darkly  close  around, 
And  yet  the  beauteous  wand'rer  is  not  found. 
Three  dreary  days  of  wretchedness  and  fears, 
Three  sleepless  nights  of  agony  and  tears, 
In  vain  complaint,  and  tribulation  deep, 
Thou  and  thy  consort  shall  be  left  to  weep  ; 
But  when  the  fourth  fair  morn,  with  rosy  ray, 
Beams  o'er  the  waters,  and  gives  back  the  day, 


EMANUEL.  281 

Again,  behold !  he  chases  thy  alarms. 
And  once  more  hastens  to  his  mother's  arms. 
What  love  shall  then  receive  the  heav'nly  boy  ! 
What  fond  caresses  !  What  a  flood  of  joy ! 

0  how  thy  breast  will  glow  with  rapture's  fire, 
When,  near  the  altars  of  his  mighty  Sire, 
Thou  hear  st  the  counsels  of  the  glorious  child, 
Filling  the  Senate  with  amazement  wild, 

And  charming  every  heart  that  listening  hears 
The  wondrous  wisdom  of  his  infant  years." 

Ci  But  whither  rush  ye?     0  ye  frantic  bands  ! 
What  army  this,  that  blackens  all  the  lands  1 

1  see,  beneath  the  darkness  of  the  night, 

Spears,  shields,  and  swords,  and  cohorts  gleaming  bright. 

Alas  !  alas  !  and  does  such  vast  array 

Stand  forth  in  arms  a  single  foe  to  slay  3 

Oh  blindness  !  madness  !  malice  of  the  age  ! 

For  ever  burning  with  infuriate  rage  !  ! 

Th'  approaching  host  comes  pressing  onward,  now. 

And  with  wide  ranks  fills  all  the  mountain's  brow  : 

Oh  !  whither  am  I  borne  ?     That  guileless  One, 

Whom  tribes  and  tongues  with  wonder  gazed  upon, 

Who  thro'  the  world  such  countless  marvels  wrought. 

And  far  and  wide  his  Father's  doctrines  taught, 

Whom  still  amid  th'  applauding  shouts  of  all, 

So  oft  the  multitudes  were  heard  to  call 

The  King,  the  Lord,  the  Fount  of  life  and  light. 

The  glorious  God  of  majesty  and  might, 

He,  he  is  now  all  rudely  seized  and  bound, 

And  dragged  in  triumph  o'er  that  frantic  ground  ! 
24* 


282  EMANUEL. 

And  oh  !  the  cruelties  they  now  prepare  ! 

Woes  worse  than  death  the  spotless  Lamb  must  bear  ; 

Away — away — to  torture  he  is  borne — 

With  twisted  rods  his  sacred  flesh  is  torn ; 

Of  spiky  thorns  they  form  a  cruel  crown, 

Which  on  his  brow  is  pressed  in  mock'ry  down  : 

Now  with  a  reed  they  smite  his  face  :  while  cries 

Of  scorn  on  scorn  run  echoing  thro'  the  skies. 

Lo  !  widely  stretching  now  its  giant  hands, 

All  high  in  air  the  tree  of  torture  stands  ; 

Alas  ! — and  there,  ah  !  cruellest  of  deeds  ! 

The  life,  the  lamb,  the  God  of  glory  bleeds ! 

Oh !  scene  of  woe,  of  horror  and  of  dread  ! 

Wide  in  the  air  his  straining  arms  are  spread ; 

His  brow  and  locks  arc  beautiful  no  more. 

But  all  defaced,  and  filled  with  clotted  gore, 

Upon  the  ground  his  eyes  in  darkness  roll, 

And  hark — the  shriek  that  rends  his  tortured  soul  !" 

"  But  she,  the  mother — mother  now  no  more — 
The  statue — shadow  of  what  lived  before, 
With  looks  of  death,  and  long  dishevell'd  hair, 
And  shiv'ring  knee,  and  bosom  of  despair, 
Below  that  wood  of  anguish  now  appears, 
Faint  in  her  grief  and  ftcating  in  her  tears  ! 
Might  I  but  sing  that  hapless  mother's  woes, 
As  o'er  her  son  she  sees  death's  shadows  close, 
Oft  doth  she  charge,  in  many  a  frantic  cry, 
The  earth — the  stars — herself,  with  cruelty, 
O'er  all,  herself,  whose  listless  soul  can  bear 
The  scene  of  murder  which  she  looks  on  there  ; 
Then  wailing  loud,  and  fixing  her  dim  eyes 


EMANUEL.  283 

On  that  dark  cros3.  all  mournful  thus  she  cries  : — 

'•My  Son  !  My  Son  !  whence  comes  this  sudden  storm. 

That  howls  in  phrenzy  'round  my  wither 'd  form  ! 

My  life,  my  love,  my  beautiful  delight  ! 

What  wave  is  this  that  sweeps  thee  from  my  sight  ? 

What  bloody  hand  hath  torn  that  once  sweet  face 

All  gory  now,  and  robb'd  of  every  grace  1 

To  whom,  alas !  to  whom  hath  it  been  given 

To  wage  this  impious  war  with  earth  and  heaven  7 

— Such  toils — such  troubles — and  such  perils  past — 

Do  I  behold  thee  pale  in  death  at  last  ? 

0  thou,  the  rapture  of  thy  mother's  breast ! 

My  hope,  my  light,  my  spirit's  peace  and  rest ! 

For  ever  art  thou  from  my  bosom  torn, 

And  leav'st  thou  me  thus  wretched  and  forlorn  ? 

When  wail3  a  sister  o'er  a  brother's  clay, 

Her  weeping  spirit  well  to  thee  may  pray, 

But  whom  have  I  that  I  may  call  upon, 

To  give  me  back  my  Lord,  my  God,  my  son  1 

Where  shall  I  find  a  respite  from  my  pain, 

To  whom,  alas  !  shall  my  sad  soul  complain  ? 

Come  ye  and  slay  me  with  your  red  right  hands. 

Or  (heav'n  forbid  me  !)  bring  your  bloody  brands  : 

On  my  worn  frame  of  wretchedness  let  all 

Your  wrath  descend,  your  direst  tortures  fall.   "  . 

Or  thou,  my  Son  !  who  still  lov'st  mortals  so, 

Bear  hence  thy  mother  to  the  world  below  ; 

Fain  would  she  follow  thro'  those  dismal  straits,. 

And  see  her  conqu'ror  burst  the  brazen  gates. 

And  ease  thy  labors  with  a  mother's  care. 

And  wipe  the  chill  drops  from  thy  forehead  fair.'' 


284  EMANUEL. 

u  With  many  sorrows  added  unto  those, 

Thus  that  sad  mother  vents  her  bosom's  woes.'' 

"As  now  the  sun,  from  out  the  Eastern  flood, 

Beholds  the  horrors  of  that  scene  of  blood, 

Appall 'd,  he  strives  to  seek  the  waves  again, 

And,  having  striv'n  with  all  his  powers  in  vain, 

Lack  in  the  clouds  he  shrouds  his  locks  of  light, 

And  darkly  rolling,  leaves  the  heav'ns  in  night ; 

Like  one  who  manifestly  now  deplor'd 

The  death-hour  of  his  master  and  his  Lord. 

The  moon,  too,  sick'ning  at  the  fearful  sight, 

Struck  at  her  brother's  wonderful  affright, 

Averts  her  eyes — in  darkness  disappears, 

And  weeps  a  flood  of  unavailing  tears. 

With  tumult  shaken  to  its  farthest  bound, 

The  rent  earth  bellows  with  a  thund'ring  sound, 

And  roars,  and  rocks  throughout  her  inmost  caves. 

And  flings  the  frighted  dead  from  out  their  graves. 

Ye  glorious  forms  !  for  what  would  ye  prepare  1 

All  now  may  not  this  resurrection  share ; 

From  your  dark  cells  but  few  can  flee  away, 

And  seek  above  the  light  of  living  day. 

A  time  will  come,  in  which  the  trumpet's  roar 

Shall  echo  wildly  over  every  shore, 

And  bid,  throughout  all  lands  beneath  the  skies. 

The  long-laid  sleepers  from  their  tombs  arise. 

Then  shall  we  crown  with  laurel  wreaths  our  hair, 

And  march  thro'  hcav'n  with  banners  floating  fair  ; 

With  joyous  shout  pursue  our  godlike  king, 

And  thus  aloud  our  song  of  triumph  sing  : — 

£'Joy !  Joy  ! — 0  warrior  !  thou  hast  rent  our  chains, 


EMANUEL.  285 

Hast  freed  our  spirits  from  these  dread  domains. 
Hast  conquer' d  hell,  hast  chas'd  the  pow'rs  of  gloom. 
And  triumph' d  o"er  the  terrors  of  the  tomb.'' 

The  conquerer,  sitting  in  his  chariot,  high, 

Shall  loose  the  reins,  and  bid  his  coursers  fly, 

Not  Such  as  those  which  spring  from  earthly  seed. 

Or  graze  the  ground,  or  at  the  manger  feed, — 

An  ox,  the  first,  beneath  the  car  shall  shine, 

The  pride,  the  glory  of  a  herd  divine : 

His  skin  is  glowing  with  celestial  red, 

Long,  stately  horns  adorn  his  haughty  head, 

With  glitt'ring  bristles  his  proud  dew-lap  gleams, 

And  from  his  gem-like  hoofs  etherial  radiance  streams  ! 

All  nobly  next,  a  lordly  lion  moves, 

— The  king  of  beasts — the  terror  of  the  groves — 

Wide  o'er  his  shoulders  floats  his  flowing  mane, 

And  pride  and  grandeur  in  his  bosom  reign. 

No  longer  filled  with  fury  unsubdued, 

lie  shows  no  thirst  for  battle  or  for  blood : 

(His  teeth  are  bright  in  innocent  array, 

And  o'er  his  visage  beam3  of  mildness  play  :) 

But  wild  he  pants  to  scale  yon  airy  height, 

And  o'er  the  planets  wing  his  rapid  flight 

In  this  fair  order,  lo  !  there  next  is  seen 

A  mighty  bird,  the  birds'  imperial  queen : 

Wide  o'er  her  neck  is  heav'nly  plumage  spread, 

And  a  bright  diadem  adorns  her  head  : 

Broad-wing'd,  and  beaming  like  the  lightning's  glare. 

Away  she  speeds  across  the  wayless  air, 

O'er  domes,  and  hills,  and  ev'ry  plume  that  flies. 


286  EMANUEL. 

Seeking  the  clouds,  and  mingling  with  the  skies. 

To  these  is  joined  a  winged  youth,  the  last ; 

Around  his  form  a  yellow  robe  is  cast, 

Bespangled  o'er  with  many  a  priceless  gem, 

And  all  the  glories  of  Jerusalem : 

There,  bright  eyes  shine — there,  lofty  mountains  stand, 

There,  silver  streams  roll  o'er  their  golden  sand  ; 

And  mighty  Babylon,  in  all  her  pride, 

Spreads  her  brignt  streets  around  its  border  wide. 

':Thus  fair  equipp'd  thro'  air  the  chariot  rolls, 

Rich  with  the  spoils  of  countless  happy  souls, 

And  sweeps  in  triumph  o'er  the  path  sublime, 

That  leads  to  life  and  heav'n's  immortal  clime. 

"When  there  we  rest,  our  eyes  shall  all  behold 

Those  lovely  walls  that  glittering  rise  in  gold, 

Those  starry  streets — those  roofs  with  rubies  crown'd, 

And  those  bright  streams  of  glass,  with  lofty  hills  around. 

And  whether  we  shall  sit  beside  His  throne, 

Who  ever  reigns  superior  and  alone, 

Or  take  our  dwellings  in  abodes  less  high, 

We'll  count  the  planets  flaming  o'er  the  sky, 

And.  far  below  our  happy  feet,  survey 

Both  the  arising  and  the  setting  day, 

Blest  with  those  heav'nly  joys  that  never  fade  away." 

Thus  sang  the  Prophet-bard.     The  list'ning  throng, 
With  loud  applauses,  hail  the  rapturous  song. 
Then  in  glad  triumph  bear  the  minstrel  o'er 
The  spacious  circuit  of  that  shadowy  shore. 

The  warbled  tidings  Satan  heard  with  woe, 
And  dreadful  thunders  shook  the  realms  below. 


EMANUEL. 

BOOK    SECOND. 


A  R  G  U  M  EXT. 

The  visit  of  the  holy  Virgin  to  Elizabeth.  The  supposed  rejoicing? 
of  nature  at  the  happy  event.  The  three  months'  abode  with  Eliza- 
beth and  Zachariah.  The  enrolling  of  the  Roman  world  at  the  com- 
mand of  the  Emperor  Augustus.  The  different  nations  subject  to 
Rome.  The  arrival  of  Mary  and  Joseph  at  Bethlehem.  The  Birth  of 
Christ.     Joseph's  transport  and  admiration. 


When  now,  inspired  by  heav'nly  grace,  the  Queen 
Beholds  the  wonders  of  the  Power  unseen. 
She  rises  from  the  place  without  delay. 
And  o'er  the  hills  resolves  to  speed  away 
To  see  that  sister  o'er  whose  form  and  brow 
The  weight  of  age  hath  left  its  traces  now  : 

CO  ' 

And  mark  in  her  the  wondrous  gifts  of  Heav'n, 
Which  to  that  barren  matron  late  were  giv'n. 
And  as  she  first  prepares  her  for  the  way. 
She  robes  her  person  with  no  vain  array  ; 
No  gaudy  vesture  decks  her  bosom  fair  : 
A  plain  white  veil  is  all  that  shades  her  hair. 
Then  moving  forth,  like  some  bright  star  she  seems, 

That  o'er  the  wintry  sky  shoots  far  its  beams, 

Or  like  the  morning  peering  o'er  the  plain. 

Or  the  glad  sun  just  issuing  from  the  main. 

Where'er  she  moves  unnumber'd  flowers  arise, 

Of  various  odors,  and  of  various  dyes  ; 

Here  Cassia  blooms,  and  there  the  red  rose  springs. 

And  here  the  Hyacinth  its  perfume  flings  ; 


288  EMANtEL. 

Its  lovely  head  the  fair  Narcissus  show3, 

Far  o'er  the  ground  the  flaming  Crocus  glo\V9  ; 

The  field's  best  sweets  on  every  side  are  seen, 

And  spring  in  all  her  pomp  adorns  the  smiling  green. 

The  rapid  rivers  cease  to  roll  along, 

The  vales  rejoice — the  hills  resound  with  song ; 

The  pines  around  incline  their  lofty  brow, 

And  buds  unnumbcr'd  burst  from  every  bough, — 

A  thrilling  rapture  gladdens  all  below, 

Each  wild  and  stormy  blast  forgets  to  blow  ; — 

O'er  the  wide  surface  of  the  fair  campaigne 

Naught  but  the  zephyr  holds  its  gentle  reign, 

And  fills  with  balm  the  fair  pacific  sky, 

And  hails  the  virgin  as  she  hurries  by ! 

And  now  the  partner  of  the  hoary  priest, 

Divinely  filled,  mysteriously  increas'd, 

Received  the  maid,  and  clasp'd  her  to  her  breast, 

And  spoke  aloud,  and  thus  her  joy  express 'd : — 

"  Hail,  happy  Virgin !  glory  of  our  name, 

Already  conscious  of  thy  sister's  fame  ; 

Thou  who  alone  wast  worthy  deemed  of  all 

To  bear  the  Rightcr  of  man's  hapless  fall  ! 

Upon  our  hearts  draw  down  celestial  grace, 

And  to  the  height  of  heav'n  exalt  thy  race  ! 

0  whence  to  me  hath  such  an  honor  come, 

That  thou,  my  queen,  should' st  seek  my  humble  home  ? 

Scarce  on  my  ear  thy  salutation  sounded, 

When  in  my  womb  my  babe  with  rapture  bounded, 

And  blessed  art  thou  that  hast  believ'd  the  Lord, 

All  shall  be  done  predicted  by  his  word." 


EMANUEL.  289 

( The  Magnificat.) 

11  Who,"  cries  the  Virgin,  "shall  resound  his  praise  ? 

What  tongue  display  his  wondrous  works  and  ways  1 

In  joyful  strains  I  raise  my  feeble  voice, 

And  in  my  Saviour's  heav'nly  name  rejoice. 

He  hath  observed  me  from  his  place  on  high, 

And  crown'd  with  honors  my  humility ; 

For  which  shall  I  be  bless 'd  on  ev'ry  shore, 

Till  mankind  fails,  and  seasons  roll  no  more  : 

The  Power  whose  glory  fills  the  starry  frame, 

Hath  honor 'd  me,  and  Holy  is  his  name  ; 

To  them  that  fear  him  he  extends  his  grace, 

From  line  to  line,  from  rising  race  to  race ; 

He  hath  stood  up,  and  shown  his  arm  of  mi'gbt, 

And  in  their  boasting  put  the  proud  to  flight ; 

He  hath  cast  down  the  mighty  from  the  throne, 

And  raised  on  high  the  lowly  and  unknown ; 

He  hath  with  plenty  filled  the  hungry  heart, 

And  bade  the  great  in  emptiness  depart ; 

And  now,  to  crown  his  many  gifts  divine, 

He  sends  a  son  from  Israel's  lofty  line, 

As  he  had  promised  to  our  Sires  of  yore, 

And  to  their  progeny  for  evermore.' ' 

The  aged  priest  who  stood  all  mutely  there, 

Surveys  the  maid  and  marks  her  graceful  air, 

Observes  the  motion  of  her  virgin-feet, 

And  prints  the  ground  she  treads  with  kisses  sweet ; 

Then  lifts  his  hands,  exulting,  to  the  skies, 

And  does  with  signs  whate'er  his  voice  denies ; 

Points  to  the  prophecies  of  other  days, 
25 


290  EMANUEL. 

And  dark  futurity  revealed  displays — 

11  Him  -who  shall  come  like  rain  upon  the  fleece — 

The  flower  that  blooms  from  Jesse's  bright  increase — 

The  tree  that  stood  unblasted  by  the  fires — 

The  star  that  rises  from  the  Jewish  Sires." 

While  thus  intent,  he  runs  his  piercing  look 

Along  the  pages  of  the  Sacred  Book  ; 

Deep  in  her  breast  the  virgin  dwells  upon 

The  coming  birth  of  God's  Eternal  One, 

Descending  like  the  shower  upon  the  fleece, 

In  nature's  calm,  and  midnight's  solemn  peace; 

And  though  full  well  herself  was  seen  to  be 

That  "  burning  bush  " — that  "  starlight  of  the  sea," 

The  maiden  still  dares  offer  no  reply, 

Nor  deems  her  worthy  dignities  so  high, 

But  looking  up,  her  heart  to  heav'n  she  lift* 

And  renders  thanks  for  all  its  priceless  gifts. 

The  moon,  at  length,  had  thrice  beheld  her  wane. 
When  she  resolves  to  hasten  home  again. 
And  now  prepar'd  to  measure  back  the  hills, 
With  sweet  emotions  all  the  virgin  thriUs  : 
The  placid  smile — the  more  than  fond  caress — 
Her  aged  mother's  looks  of  lovingness — 
The  sweet  remembrance  of  that  homestead  dear 
(Where  Gabriel's  voice  first  echoed  on  her  ear,) 
Around  whose  roof  still  honor 'd  by  the  skies, 
A  thousand  songs  of  Seraphim  arise — 
All  these  come  o'er  her  with  redoubled  swayy 
And  prompt  her  spirit  to  pursue  her  way. 
At  length  departed  from  her  kindred  friends> 


EMANUEL.  291 

Fast  o'er  the  hills  her  joyous  way  she  wends ; 

No  rest — no  respite — as  she  homeward  hies, 

Not  turning  once  on  either  side  her  eyes, 

Tho'  'round  her  head  attendant  angels  soar, 

Till  she  at  length  regains  the  wish'd  for  door. 

Revolving  there  the  glory  of  her  dow'r, 

She  waits  expectant,  for  the  blissful  hour 

When,  free  from  pain  or  labour,  she  brings  forth, 

The  long  expected  One — the  Lord  of  heav'n  and  earth  ! 

Wide  o'er  the  globe  Peace  now  maintained  her  sway, 
And  smooth' d  the  land,  and  calmed  the  wat'ry  way. 
Augustus  bade  war's  brazen  portals  close, 
And  bound  in  firmest  bonds  his  vanquish' d  foes. 
To  reckon  then  the  number  of  his  forces, 
His  armies^  navies,  all  his  realm's  resources, 
The  various  tribes  who  bow'd  to  his  command — 
He  sends  his  Edict  o'er  the  subject  land, 
That  each  dependency  be  straight  made  known, 
And  loud  declar'd  before  the  so v'  reign  throne. 
One  law  impels  the  nations  far  and  near : 
Aurora's  throngs  of  mountaineers  appear : 
Then  wild  Armenia's  populace  ;  and  then 
Naphata's  band  of  famous  archer-men — 
A  race  well  skill'd  to  roam  their  borders  'round, 
And  guard  from  foes  Amomus'  flow'ry  ground, 
About  whose  circuit  the  Euphrates  strays, 
And  the  Araxes  winding  makes  his  ways. 
Mount  Taurus'  people  are  with  these  enroll' d  ; 
The  numbers  of  Amanus  next  are  told  ; 
Isauria,  too,  and  Cilex,  famed  in  fight, 


292  EMANUEL. 

With  all  that  tread  Pamphalia's  woody  height. 

Then  come  the  men  of  Lycatonia's  plains, 

And  Lycia's  colony  of  frugal  swains ; 

The  mighty  Leleges,  in  war  renown 'd, 

And  all  the  neighboring  provinces  around. 

And  Gnidus,  too,  and  Ceramus,  and  all 

That  »ake  abode  within  the  Carian  wall, 

Where,  high  surrounded  by  huge  piles  of  stone, 

In  many  a  ruin  'round  its  basis  strown, 

Stands  that  proud  fabric  the  Barbarian  queen, 

Raised  to  her  spouse  who  press 'd  the  battle-green  ; 

And  those  where  Pactolus  adorns  the  lands  ; 

And  where  the  Hermes  shows  his  golden  sands ; 

Those,  too,  who  dwell  around  the  Rhetian  tow'rs  ; 

And  Ide,  Cerene  and  the  Mysian  pow'rs  ; 

And  Sige  ;  and  Troy,  the  theme  of  poet's  strain, 

O'er  which  king  Priam  held  of  old  his  reign, 

The  land  of  war — the  nursery  of  the  brave, 

Renown' d  to  day  for  many  a  hero's  grave, 

To  which  the  roving  sailor  still  is  wont, 

As  swift  he  sweeps  across  the  Hellespont, 

To  point  his  comrades,  saying — u  Lo  !  'twas  there 

The  sea-maids  stood  when,  with  dishevell'd  hair, 

Their  mother,  Thetis,  wailed  along  the  shore, 

And  wept  her  lov'd  Achilles  then  no  more/' 

These  are  succeeded  by  Bythinia's  bands. 

And  all  the  people  of  the  Pontic  lands ; 

And  wild  Carambis,  and  Sinope  high, 

With  every  tribe  that  Ilalys  wanders  by. 

Enroll'd  with  these  are  Cappadocia's  sons, 

Amid  whose  soil  the  fresh' ning  Iris  runs ; 


EMANUEL.  293 

And  all  the  countries  which  Thermodon  sees, 

And  the  Caucasians,  and  the  Hylabes. 

From  every  spot  where  warlike  Thrace  extends, 

And  Rhodope  with  chilly  Aemus  blends, 

Where,  thro'  the  roughness  of  Maceti's  soil, 

The  thund'ring  Ascius'  foamy  torrents  boil, 

Where  the  fresh  woods  'round  Halyachmon  rise. 

And  where  Pharsalia's  field  of  glory  lies, 

Where  Philippi  extends  its  bloody  plain 

Renown' d  for  many  a  valiant  Roman  slain, 

The  nations  throng  together  to  the  throne, 

Obey  the  mandate,  and  their  names  make  known. 

In  order,  next,  those  neighb'ring  cities  came, 

Whose  walls,  now  crumbl'd,  are  no  more  the  same ; 

Immortal  Greece,  renown'd  on  every  shore, 

For  arts  and  arms,  for  chivalry  and  lore  ! 

And  all  the  people  of  Epirus'  coast, 

Whose  rugged  cliffs  among  the  clouds  are  lost, 

While  'round  their  bases  dash  the  billows  high, 

— A  scene  of  terror  to  the  seaman's  eye. 

With  these  arrang'd,  Alcinous'  palace  stands, 

And  the  Liburnian  and  Illyrian  bands, 

And  all  the  countries  that  o'erspread  the  shores 

On  which  the  water  of  Ionia  roars. 

Thou,  too,  enroll'st  thy  multitudes,  bright  land  ! 

That  spread" st  o'er  sea  and  shore  thy  wide  command  ! 

Clime  of  the  mighty,  chivalrous  and  free  ! 

Place  of  high  daring  !     Land  of  victory  ! 

About  whose  bounds  the  Alps  high  tow 'ring  rise, 

In  broken  order  piercing  through  the  skies, 

While  the  old  Apennine  divides  the  whole, 

2R* 


294  EMANUEL. 

And  two  vast  waters  still  contiguous  roll. 

Next  issue  forth  the  people  of  the  Rhine. 

And  those  who  dwell  where  Danube's  billows  shine, 

In  beauty  clothing,  as  they  onward  rove 

Thro'  many  a  dark,  and  many  a  lonely  grove, 

Valley,  and  garden,  meadow,  field,  and  plain, 

Until  at  length  they  mingle  with  the  main. 

Gaul,  too,  pours  forth  her  mighty  multitude — 

That  land  which  Caesar's  gallant  hosts  subdued, 

Thro'  which  flow  forth  the  Aror  and  the  Rhone, 

The  bright  Sequana,  and  the  swift  Garone ; 

And  they  who  dwell  around  the  Pyranees, 

And  near  the  pyramid  of  Hercules, 

On  Ana's  bank — on  Duria's  flow'ry  bound — 

By  Baetis  deep,  with  many  an  olive  crown'd— 

And  Tagus  rolling  o'er  his  yellow  sand, 

With  all  the  natives  of  Iberia's  land. 

And  Lybia  rouses  all  her  spacious  shores, 

The  red  Getulians,  and  the  swarthy  Moors, 

With  every  horde  that  dwells  on  Atlas'  head, 

As  well  as  those  among  the  forests  spread, 

The  fearless  rover  of  the  desert  drear — 

The  simple  swain — the  rugged  mountaineer — 

And  the  grim  hunter,  who,  in  arms  array 'd, 

Pursues  the  lion  through  the  dusky  glade. 

Myssyla's  people  arc  the  next  that  move, 

With  those  that  wander  thro'  Ilesperia's  grove ; 

Those  too  that  settle  on  the  mountain  brows, 

Where  golden  apples  crown  the  bending  boughs ; 

And  those  that  fertilize  that  rocky  ground, 

Whero  once  in  pride  rose  Carthage,  the  renown 'd, 


EMANUEL.  295 

Though  now.  alas  !  a  solitary  shore, 
"With  fallen  fanes  and  pillars  scatter'd  o'er. 
What  years  of  toil  and  woe  that  city  cost 
The  hapless  Troy  and  all  her  glorious  host  ! 
Her  name  itself  she  scarcely  now  retains, 
But  lies  unknown  amid  her  thin  remains  ! 
Yet  we,  vain  beings,  at  the  thought  will  sigh, 
That  these  frail  bodies  must  wax  weak  and  die, 
While  we  behold  whole  dynasties  decay, 
And  gorgeous  cities  crumble  thus  away. 
An  equal  ardour  fires  the  Maccian  tribe. 
Who,  with  the  Barceans  their  names  inscribe. 
To  these  succeed  the  Xasamonian  hordes, 
Men  who  abide  by  Syrtes'  sandy  fords, 
Who  rob  and  strip  the  bodies  of  the  drown'd, 
With  which  these  shallows  spread  the  coast  around; 
And  who  for  spoils  go  plunging  in  the  main, 
Thus  boldly  turning  danger  into  gain. 
The  Psilli  next  obey  the  king's  commands. 
With  those  that  hold  the  Garamantian  lands  ; 
And  those  who  plough  the  Cyrencean  ground. 
Where  richest  fruits,  and  rarest  plants  abound  ; 
Those,  too,  whose  dwelling  is  in  Syria's  shades  ; 
And  those  that  travel  Hasbyta's  deep  glades  ; 
And  those  that  cover  the  Marmarian  strands ; 
And  those  that  live  in  Egypt 's  fertile  lands  ; 
And,  last,  th'  inhabitants  of  Mero's  isle, 
Whose  fields  are  water' d  by  the  sacred  Nile. 
Attended  also  by  his  consort  chaste, 
The  saintly  Joseph  moves  along  in  haste, 
To  have  his  lineage  and  his  name  enroll' d, 


296  EMANUEL. 

Observe  the  law,  and  pay  the  stated  gold. 

Inspecting,  therefore,  his  ancestral  train, 

And  all  the  kingdoms  subject  to  their  reign, 

In  silent  thought  he  marks  the  regal  line, 

Their  splendid  deeds — their  origin  divine — 

And,  now  tho'  poor,  and  mark'd  indeed  no  more. 

With  aught  that  signalized  his  sires  of  yore, 

He  comes  from  far,  and  hastens  to  proclaim 

Before,  the  world,  the  glory  of  their  name. 

So,  having  pass'd,  0  Galilee  !  thy  bounds, 

And  CarmePs  vale,  and  Thabor's  rural  grounds, 

And  fair  Samaria,  land  of  palm  and  Aowts, 

He  leaves  behind  him  Solyma's  high  tow'rs  ; 

Then,  as  he  catches,  from  a  neighb'ring  height, 

The  well-known  prospect  that  arose  in  sight, 

Where,  high  in  air,  appear 'd  those  walls  and  spires, 

That  show'd  at  last  the  city  of  his  sires, 

With  hands  uprais'd,  enraptur'd  thus  he  cries, 

While  sudden  tears  came  trickling  from  his  eyes  : — 

"Hail,  tow'rs  of  Bethlehem  !  hail,  lov'd  domains  ! 

O'er  which  my  fathers  held  their  golden  reigns ; 

Hail,  my  sweet  home  !  all  hail,  thou  land  of  kings  ! 

From  out  whose  bosom  now  a  monarch  springs, 

Whom  stars  and  skies  shall  honor  at  his  birth, 

And  Angels  -celebrate  o'er  heav'n  and  earth  ! 

Jove's  fabled  Crete  before  thee  low  shall  bow — 

Fam'd  Dirce's  walls  shall  lose  their  lustre  now — 

The  name  of  Delos  shall  be  heard  no  more, 

By  thee  eclypsed,  its  days  of  pride  are  o'er  ! 

Vain  words — ev'n  Rome  shall  come  with  humbled  crown, 

That  brilliant  spot  of  glory  and  renown, 


EMANUEL.  297 

And  bid  her  hills,  her  sev'n  proud  hills,  resign 
Their  vaunted  splendor  to  give  place  to  thine  !  " 
Thus  spoke  the  sage,  then  moving  quickly  down, 
Resum'd  his  journey  to  the  distant  town. 

The  sun,  meanwhile,  descending  brilliantly, 
In  beauty  shone  above  th*  Iberian  sea, 
vYherein,  reflected,  smil'd  the  ev'ning  skies, 
With  purple  clouds,  and  brightly  tinctur  d  dyes ; 
When  there  was  seen  a  numerous  spreading  throng 
Pour  to  the  town  and  crowding  rush  along, 
So  thick'ning — vast — that  he  who  view'd  the  train 
Would  deem  them  merchants  wafted  o'er  the  main, 
Or,  men,  who,  harass'd  by  the  foeman's  brand, 
In  search  of  peace  forsook  their  native  land. 
Thro'  every  street,  and  lane,  and  narrow  pass, 
Then  might  be  view'd  full  many  a  varied  mass 
Of  men  and  matrons,  and  of  shepherd -boys 
Swift  rolling  onward  with  tumultuous  noise  ; 
Of  whom  some  hurried  in  their  chariots  by ; 
More  gave  their  sails  before  the  breeze  to  fly ; 
In  open  porticoes  stood  others  'round, 
All,  filling  all  with  one  eternal  sound ; 
While,  far  and  wide,  as  far  as  eye  might  gaze, 
Great  fires  of  Jubilee  flung  high  their  blaze. 
Around  the  scene  the  old  man  casts  his  eyes, 
And  marks  the  multitudes  with  wild  surprise ; 
He  searches  then,  through  every  inn  around, 
A  place  of  rest,  but  not  a  place  is  found, 
When,  he  exclaims,  "  Come,  be  it  ours  to  stray, 
"  Where'er  heav'n  shall  point  to  us  the  way." 


208  EMANUEL. 

Without  the  town  a  little  grotto  stands, 

Th'  uncertain  work  of  man's  or  nature's  hands  ; 

High  o'er  its  top  huge  rocks  jut  darkly  out, 

And  time-worn  peaks  encompass  it  about ; 

A  fitting  spot,  where,  when  his  labours  close, 

The  weary  shepherd  may  enjoy  repose. 

Led  by  the  Lord,  and  counselled  from  the  skies, 

Thither  the  Senior  with  his  consort  hies, 

Till,  having  many  a  dreary  winding  pass'd, 

Far  in  the  night  he  gains  the  cave  at  last. 

lie  kindles  there  a  little  fire  of  boughs, 

A  bed  of  straw  he  then  prepares  his  spouse ; 

He  lays  the  virgin  on  that  pallet  cold, 

And  'round  her  body  wrapp'd  a  garment's  fold. 

Within  the  grot  there  stood  a  manger,  made 

Of  willow  boughs,  with  twigs  of  palm  inlaid; 

To  tliis  he  tied  the  cattle  shelt'ring  there, 

And  with  light  pattings  smoothen'd  down  their  hair. 

While  this  is  done  the  beasts  are  calm  and  still, 

Displaying  nought  of  nature's  stubborn  will. 

To  themes  of  glory,  never  tried  before, 
JNow  would,  ye  Blest !  my  daring  spirit  soar, 
Such  as  ne'er  issued  from  the  Muses'  throne, 
Ev'n  to  the  skill  of  Phaibus'  self  unknown. 
Aid  ye  my  efforts  in  so  great  a  task, 
If  not  unworthy  I  the  boon  may  ask  ; 
And  guide  my  footsteps  to  the  cave  of  joy, 
The  bliss  of  Cherubim — the  hcav'nly  Boy  ! 

'Twas  at  that  hour  when  night  had  scarcely  driv'n 
Her  sable  car  'round  half  the  vault  of  hcav'n, 


EMAXtEL.  299 

When  stars,  exultant,  shone  with  golden  glow, 

And  tranquil  lay  the  midnight  world  below, 

When  man,  o'erpower'd,  had  sunk  away  to  rest, 

And  happy  slumbers  charm 'd  the  weary  breast, 

When  bird  and  beast  were  heard  no  more  around, 

And  serpents  ceas"d  to  hurry  o'er  the  ground, 

When  the  last  spark  had  dwindled  all  away, 

And  in  the  grot  the  Sage  reposing  lay — 

Lo !  from  on  high,  there  burst  a  beaming  light, 

That,  shining  far  around,  illumin'd  all  the  night ; 

And  dulcet  voices  through  the  radiance  sang, 

And,  with  glad  strains,  a  thousand  harp  strings  rang, 

Filling  with  heav'nly  music  all  the  air, 

Sent  forth  from  myriad  choirs  of  Spirits  floating  there. 

The  Virgin,  listening,  drinks  the  song  with  joy, 

That  hails  the  birth-hour  of  the  coming  Boy, 

Then  rising  swiftly,  lifts  to  heav'n  her  eyes, 

And  thus  to  God  with  soul  extatic  cries : 

"  Almighty  Pow'r  !  who  hold'st  thy  high  command, 

O'er  all  the  sky,  the  ocean,  and  the  land ! 

At  last,  0  Lord  !  appears  that  period  bright, 

In  which  shall  spring  thy  spotless  son  to  light ; 

In  which  the  earth  upon  my  bliss  shall  smile, 

And  strew  her  vales  with  rosy  wreaths  the  while  ! 

To  thee,  behold !  I  render  up  once  more 

The  ripen'd  fruit — the  long  entrusted  store  ! 

Do  thou  protect  me  with  thy  pow'rful  arm, 

Nor  see  my  honour  suffer  aught  of  harm. 

I  soon,  sweet  Babe !  with  many  a  fond  caress, 

Close  to  my  heart  thy  lovely  form  shall  press  ; 

My  well-known  breast  I  oft  shall  see  thee  seek, 


300  EMAXUEL. 

And  print  in  smiles  sweet  kisses  on  my  cheek ; 
Cling  'round  my  neck,  and  hang  upon  my  breast, 
And  there  at  length  sink  tranquilly  to  rest." 
Thus  spoke  the  maid,  dissolv'd  in  love  away, 
Then  hung,  enraptured,  on  the  Spirits'  lay. 

The  moon,  now  beaming  o'er  the  mid-way  sky, 

Told  to  her  soul,  the  happy  hour  was  nigh. 

What  pleasing  phrenzy  hurries  me  along  1 

Assist,  blest  maid  !  inspire  thy  poet's  song ; 

High  o'er  the  clouds  I  soar,  all  heav'en  I  see 

Descending  down  to  view  the  thrilling  mystery  ! 

O  give  the  deed  on  words  of  flame  to  fly, 

The  Mighty,  Grand,  Ineffable,  Most  High ! 

Away,  all  base  degen'rate  cares  !  away, 

While  themes  of  heav'n  thus  animate  my  lay. 

Now  filled  with  ecstacy,  and  free  from  fears, 

In  thoughts  divine  is  wrapp'd  the  Queen  of  future  years. 

The  Father,  Son  and  Holy  One  who  stood 

Above  the  gloom  that  hung  o'er  ocean's  flood, 

Ere  in  the  skies  the  sun's  effulgence  beam'd, 

Or  the  mild  moon  with  fainter  lustre  gleam'd, 

With  rays  of  glory  fill  the  favour'd  scene, 

And  calm  the  bosom  of  the  vestal  Queen. 

Her  painless  bearing — her  unsullied  name, 

With  all  she  heard  God's  messenger  proclaim, 

Meantime  come  freshly  o'er  her  spirit — when 

(0  night  of  bliss  to  angels  and  to  men  !) 

Suddenly  bursting  on  her  golden  dreams, 

The  glorious  moment  of  delivery  beams, 

And  there,  as  rests  she  on  her  couch  forlorn! 


EMANUEL.  301 

And  stars,  and  skies  stand  aw'd — behold  the  Christ  is  born! 

As  when  at  eve  the  dews  o'erspread  the  ground, 

While  all  is  redolent  of  Spring  around, 

The  thirsty  grass  receives  the  silent  stream, 

And  starry  gems  o'er  all  the  meadows  gleam ; 

Some  traveler,  seeing  that  the  pearly  rain 

Moistens  his  garb,  and  waters  all  the  plain, 

In  vain  attempts  to  trace  the  drops  unseen, 

And  wond'ring,  hastens  o'er  the  glitt'ring  green ; 

0  power  of  God  !  thus  wondrously  to  sight, 

The  tender  babe  is  usher 'd  into  light  ! 

Low  on  the  straw  the  Saviour  helpless  lies, 

Filling  the  grotto  with  his  feeble  cries. 

The  virgin,  meantime,  feels  no  sense  of  pain  ; 

Strong  as  at  first,  her  energies  remain. 

Thus  are  received  the  sunbeams  thro'  the  glass, 

Full  through  the  solid  instantly  they  pass, 

Driving  away  the  shadows  of  the  night, 

And  all  around  diffusing  golden  light : 

Tho'  wintry  tempests  wildly  roar  around, 

Unharm'd  the  same  the  chrystal  still  is  found ; 

Expos' d  to  all,  'tis  open  still  to  none, 

And  pervious  solely  to  the  piercing  sun. 

Around  the  child  the  mother  wraps  a  vest, 

With  fondness  clasps  him  to  her  loving  breast, 

Then  in  the  manger  lays  his  beauteous  form ; 

The  catties'  breathing  keeps  the  Infant  warm  ! 

With  fitting  thoughts  mysteriously  endowed, 

Before  the  Saviour,  lo  !  the  ox  is  bowed  ; 

And  now  the  ass  his  trembling  ears  lets  fall, 

And  kneeling  down  adores  the  God  of  all. 
26 


302  EMANUEL. 

0  happy  pair !  to  you  indeed  'twas  giv'n 

To  gaze  upon  the  highest  gifts  of  heav'n. 

Ye  were  the  first  to  meet  those  lovely  eyes, 

Ye  saw  and  hail'd  the  Lord  of  earth  and  skies. 

While  'round  the  world  the  waves  of  ocean  roll, 

While  starry  light  illumes  the  glowing  pole, 

While  the  robed  priest  before  the  altar  stands, 

And  lifts  in  prayer  to  heav'n  his  holy  hands, 

Wide  o'er  the  world  this  fame  of  yours  shall  shine, 

As  truth  shall  speak  from  out  each  glowing  shrine. 

When  thus,  0  Queen  !  thou  saw'st  thy  partners  'round, 

In  low  submission  bow  them  to  the  ground, 

In  adoration  of  the  God  of  might, 

While  heav'n,  amazed,  look'd  wond'ring  at  the  sight, 

With  what  high  thoughts  wert  thou  not  all  impress' d  ! 

What  boundless  transport  fill'd  thy  sacred  breast  ! 

What  pow'r,  0  Father  !  soften 'd  their  wild  mood  ? 

How  came  such  feelings  over  things  so  rude, 

To  make  them  thus  adore  with  one  accord, 

As  sov'reign  master,  and  as  mighty  Lord, 

Him  whom  all  tribes,  and  peoples  cast  aside, 

Whom  ev'n  his  Own  deserted  and  denied. 

His  own — who  should  be  champions  of  his  cause, 

And  build  his  altars,  and  proclaim  his  laws  ? 

Attracted,  sudden,  by  the  Infant's  cries, 

The  old  man  casts  the  slumber  from  his  eyes, 

And  rising  up,  beholds  the  heav'nly  Boy, 

And  lovely  mother,  lovelier  in  her  joy, 

Serene  and  mild  reclining  on  the  ground, 

With  a  bright  band  of  angels  circled  'round. 

Thus  doth  the  Phenix  from  her  flight  descend, 


EMAXUEL.  803 

Bright  beauteous  birds  upon  her  train  attend  ; 
With  golden  plumage  she  appears  to  blaze, 
Aglitt'ring  glory  like  the  sun's  red  rays  : 
Before  the  rest  all  royally  she  flies. 
Mid  song  and  joy  that  fill  the  sounding  skies. 
Wond'ring.  the  sage  beholds  the  beamy  fires, 
And  hears,  astonished,  the  celestial  choirs, 
Then  lost — subdued — and  stricken  with  affright, 
Too  faint  to  suffer  that  stupendous  sight, 
Trembling  he  falls,  with  quiv'ring  arms  outspread, 
And  rests  on  earth  as  moveless  as  the  dead. 
While  thus  before  that  band  of  light  he  lies, 
The  virgin  sees,  and  bids  her  guardian  rise. 
Swift  from  his  sight  she  makes  the  shadows  flee, 
Pours  fresh' ning  vigour  thro'  each  shiv'ring  knee. 
Then  lifts  him  up.  and  bids  him  firmly  stand, 
To  gaze  again  upon  that  warbling  band, 
And  mark  the  glory  that  around  him  streams 
In  that  wide  galaxy  of  myriad  beams  ! 
Now  as  the  hoary  man  regains,  at  length, 
His  rising  spirits  and  his  wonted  strength, 
Bow'd  down  he  hails,  reclining  on  his  rod, 
The  choirs — the  mother — and  the  Infant-God  ; 
Then  to  the  manger  drawing  nigh,  and  there 
Beholding  Him.  the  Lord  of  earth  and  air, 
Silent  in  reverential  awe  he  stands, 
Nor  dares  to  lay.  on  those  fair  limbs,  his  hands  ; 
But  leaning  fondly  o'er  the  child,  he  sips 
The  savoury  breath  that  issues  from  his  lips, 
When,  all  transported  with  th'  etherial  draught, 
In  which  heav'n's  own  immortal  sweets  were  quaff  d, 


304  EMANUEL. 

In  tones  of  love  he  thus  at  length  began, 

While  down  his  cheeks  the  tear-drops  bursting  ran : 

"  0  holy  Babe  !  0  thou  dost  not  recline, 

Where  Perian  columns  in  bright  order  shine  ; 

No  costly  tapestry  enwraps  thee  round, 

With  gold  array 'd,  and  Phrygian  border  bound. 

While  'round  earth's  lords  the  hall  of  splendor  glows, 

And  royal  hangings  deck  their  proud  repose, 

A  narrow  stable  forms  thy  fairest  shed, 

And  reeds  and  straw  compose  thy  softest  bed. 

Yet  gifts  surround  thee  greater  far  than  these, 

The  changeless  Father's  glorious  dignities — 

Filled  with  thy  praise  is  Heav'n's  immortal  train, 

And  joyous  nature  echoes  back  the  strain. 

Nobles  and  Monarchs  hither  shall  resort, 

To  view  the  place  where  rose  thy  homely  court, 

From  where  blue  Calpe  hears  the  water's  roar, 

From  sultry  India's  ultramontane  shore, 

From  ev'ry  country  which  the  South  wind  warms, 

Or  over  which  the  surly  Boreas  storms. 

0  Gentle  Pastor  !  destin'd  to  recall 

The  scatter'd  sheep,  and  safely  keep  them  all  ! 

Too  prodigal,  alas  !  of  love  and  life, 

Bursting  thro'  dangers,  darts,  and  storms,  and  strife. 

Thou  wilt  restrain  the  rabid  wolf's  wild  rage, 

And  lead  thy  flocks  to  plenteous  pasturage. 

0  Saviour  of  my  soul !  0  Splendour  bright ! 

Son  of  God,  God,  Light  of  eternal  light ! 

Heav'n,  earth,  and  all,  thy  praises  shall  proclaim, 

And  ever  more  do  honour  to  thy  name." 


EMANUEL.  *305 

BOOK  THIRD. 


ARGUMENT. 

The  Almighty  Father  calls  the  various  orders  of  blessed  spirits,  re- 
minds them  of  their  ancient  struggle  with  Lucifer,  and  commands 
them  to  announce  to  the  world  the  nativity  of  Christ.  The  entrance 
of  the  Shepherds  into  the  stable.  Their  Thanksgiving  and  transport. 
Songs  of  joy.  Spirits  in  the  skies  singing  the  mercy  and  the  power  of 
God.  Phenomena  at  the  river  Jordan.  The  miracles  of  Christ.  The 
conclusion. 


Rejoicing  now  in  His  designs  unknown, 

Th'  Eternal  Father  mounts  his  dazzling  throne. 

And  'round  him  summons  that  immortal  band, 

Who  dwell  within,  who  near  the  portals  stand, 

Who  fill  the  East,  who  fill  the  Western  sky, 

Thr  etherial  Tabernacles,  far  and  nigh. 

For  when,  at  first,  that  great  Eternal  Cause 

Created  all  and  wisely  made  his  laws, 

'Tis  said,  that  He,  amid  those  realms  of  rest, 

Grave  diff'rent  dwellings  to  the  diff'rent  Blest, 

On  each  bestowing  what  his  merit  won, 

In  all  things  willing  as  it  should  be  done. 

From  every  side  the  congregate  array, 

Swift  to  the  throne  obedient  wing  their  way, 

A  part  with  stars  encircling  them  around, 

And  part  with  diadems  of  glory  crowned. 

The  King  of  kings  now  clothes  him  in  a  robe, 

That  waves  o'er  every  sky,  and  mantles  every  globe. 

Wide  Nature's  fulness,  fashioned  and  made  fair 

With  all  the  wonders  of  the  earth  and  air, 
26* 


306  EMANUEL. 

In  galaxies  that  burned  with  gems  and  gold, 

Flash 'd  from  its  centre  to  its  farthest  fold. 

There  had  it  pleas'd  Omnipotence  to  trace 

The  earth,  the  ocean,  and  the  depths  of  space, 

Those  primal  elements,  the  shapeless  clay, 

Birds  swiftly  winging  thro'  th'  serial  way, 

Things  of  the  forest,  creatures  of  the  seas, 

The  world  of  waters  fresh 'ning  with  the  breeze, 

Each  form  of  life,  the  deathless  part  of  man, 

And  all  things  else  Jehovah  deign' d  to  plan. 

As  on  their  thrones  now  sat  the  conclave  bright, 

Thus  spoke  the  Godhead  from  his  loftier  height : 

"Ye  heav'nly  Natures  !  ye  who  marked,  in  woe, 

The  daring  outrage  of  th'  infernal  Foe, 

If  still  it  glads  you  to  recall  that  day, 

And  view  the  labour  of  your  bright  array, 

With  boundless  triumph  honour 'd  in  the  end, — 

Turn  hither  now,  and  to  our  will  attend. 

When  vengeful  pride,  arising  in  its  might, 

Fiird  with  rebellion  all  the  courts  of  light, 

When  Lucifer  would  seize  the  heav'nly  throne, 

And  make  the  kingdoms  of  the  skies  his  own, 

A  faithful  army  ye  beside  us  stood, 

And  nobly  fought,  and  every  force  subdu'd, 

March'd  at  the  close  victorious  thro'  the  sky, 

And  hung  your  trophies  on  those  turrets  high. 

With  signal  palm  we  crown'd  your  sacred  train, 

Made  you  copartners  of  our  works  and  reign, 

Chose  you  the  heralds  of  our  mighty  sway, 

And  fixed  your  hosts  in  bliss  that  will  not  fade  away. 

Ye  knew  our  sorrow — and  our  wrath  ye  saw. 


EMANUEL.  307 

When  man's  first  parents,  trampling  on  our  law, 
Ate  of  the  fruit  of  that  forbidden  tree, 
Which  doom'd  to  death  their  whole  posterity. 
Far  from  their  rest  you  drove  the  hapless  pair, 
Unworthy  now  to  breathe  its  blissful  air  ; 
Distress  and  toil  ye  then  entail'd  on  man. 
And  all  his  life  contracted  to  a  span. 
We  speak  not  here  of  that  eternal  woe, 
Which  follow" d  him  amid  the  shades  below ; 
We  look'd  thereon  from  this  our  home  of  light, 
And  deeply  sorrow 'd  at  the  mournful  sight : 
Nor  shall  we  say,  that  now,  when  years  are  pass'd, 
In  sweet  compassion  we  are  pleas'd,  at  last, 
To  send  our  Son  for  mortal's  better  doom, 
To  take  his  dwelling  in  a  Virgin's  womb. 
Such  things,  ye  blest !  are  haply  now  the  cause, 
That  bring  us  forth  to  make  unchanging  laws, 
Which  will  unite  all  hearts  below,  above. 
In  golden  links  of  everlasting  love. 
Exulting  now  in  man's  superior  lot. 
Haste  from  the  skies,  and  seek  the  little  grot, 
Where  slender  rushes  have  the  scene  o'erspread, 
And  low  on  earth  appears  the  straw-made  bed  : 
In  awe  submissive,  to  the  couch  move  on, 
Where  the  blest  maiden,  clasping  our  lov'd  Son, 
Feeds  him  now  fondly  from  her  fragrant  breast, 
And  gently  lulls  him  to  his  midnight  rest. 
Fast  by  the  spot,  and  prostrate  on  the  ground, 
An  ox  and  ass,  that  humbly  watch  around, 
While  ceaseless  strains  pour  out  their  music  sweet. 
With  fitting  rev'rence,  lick  their  Maker's  feet. 


308  EMANUEL. 

Swift  thro'  the  firmament  go  wing  jour  flight, 
Far  ' round  the  land  proclaim  this  happy  night  ; 
With  songs  of  gladness  hail  the  Saviour's  birth, 
And  peace  eternal  warble  to  the  earth : 
Thus  heav'n  shall  mingle  with  the  world  in  love, 
And  man  be  lifted  to  the  seats  above. ' ' 
Speaking,  he  makes,  by  charity's  blest  fire, 
The  glowing  hosts  to  emulate  their  Sire, 
Forget  their  anger  at  that  ancient  crime. 
Which  fill'd  with  sorrow  and  with  pain  all  time, 
With  pity  melt,  to  earthly  sorrows  turn, 
And  mortal  love,  and  for  his  welfare  burn. 
Immediate  now  he  summons,  from  her  flight, 
One  absent  Form,  the  spirit  of  delight, 
Who  in  his  bosom  makes  all  anger  cease. 
And  o'er  his  troubFd  brow  brings  holy  peace. 
Who  plays  for  ever  'round  the  starry  bow'rs, 
And  rarely  visits  this  dark  world  of  ours, 
Who,  free  from  care,  is  always  bright  and  gay, 
Sending  all  soitoavs  from  the  skies  away. 
Before  the  Lord  the  lovely  Spirit  stands, 
And  hears  the  purport  of  his  high  commands  ; 
Swift  at  the  word  she  spreads  her  wings  of  light, 
And  'round  her  calls  the  partners  of  her  flight. 
Attendant  soon,  appear 'd  a  shining  throng, 
Joy,  Grace,  and  Jubilee,  and  Dance,  and  Song, 
And  happy  Hope,  from  every  trouble  free, 
And  naked  Faith,  and  ardent  Charity, 
(Immortal  sisters  of  that  better  land, 
Who  walk  the  skies  forever,  hand  in  hand,) 
And  guileless  Pleasure  such  as  dwells  above, 


EMANUEL.  309 

And  holy  Ccncord  breathing  peace  and  love. 

As  stood  they  now  before  those  gates  of  gold, 

From  out  whose  centre  floods  of  radiance  roll'd. 

Attendant  on  them  wait  the  Winged  Hours, 

The  sleepless  Warders  of  th'  etherial  tow'rs. 

Whose  ready  aid  the  portals  wide  unbar, 

Which  ope  in  thunders  echoing  wide  and  far  ! 

Bright  thro'  the  void  th'  attended  Spirit  flies  ! 

The  planets  hail  her  as  she  cleaves  the  skies — 

The  moon  and  stars  become  more  fairly  bright, 

And  all  the  air  around  is  radiant  with  delight. 

As  now  she  hover' d  o'er  the  midnight  plains, 

And  fully  shone  above  the  shepherd  swains, 

Around,  about,  she  view'd  the  prospect  there. 

Shook  with  delight  her  pinions  in  the  air, 

And  smil'd  in  joy,  and  gladden  d  all  the  night, 

And  fill"d  the  darkness  with  a  flood  of  light. 

The  watch-dogs,  first,  the  shining  band  behold, 

Which  next  is  witness 'd  by  the  wide-spread  fold — 

The  distant  valleys  and  the  neighb'ring  rocks. 

Echo  the  bleatings  of  the  frighted  flocks — 

The  slumb'ring  shepherds  waken  at  the  sound, 

And  gaze  in  wonder  on  the  scene  around. 

To  these  then  spoke  the  messenger  of  good  : 

11  Belov'd  of  angels  !     Children  of  the  wood  ! 

Haste,  ye  blest  Shepherds  !  haste  ye  now  away, 

And  with  fresh  flow'rs  make  all  the  grotto  gay  : 

By  his  decree  who  rules  the  earth  and  skies, 

There  lies  your  King,  and  there  your  Queen  now  lies  ! 

With  joyous  spirits  thither,  then,  repair, 

Let  milk  and  honey  be  the  gifts  you  bear. 


310  EMANUEL. 

And  sing  together  some  harmonious  strain, 

Such  as  before  has  never  bless'd  the  plain." 

She  added  not,  but  trimmed  her  starry  plume, 

And,  soaring  brightly,  vanish 'd  thro'  the  gloom. 

In  doubt  and  fear  the  shepherds  wav'ring  stand, 

And  wonder,  wildly,  at  the  strange  command  : 

What  king  was  pointed  to — or  queen,  or  grot 

They  looked  to  see,  but  they  beheld  them  not. 

Immediately  they  pluck  from  various  boughs 

Green,  shady  leaves  with  which  they  bind  their  brows. 

With  Mastic,  Box,  and  Arbute  they  entwine 

The  rose  of  Mary,  and  the  Eglantine. 

Fast  to  the  forest  speed  they  then  away, 

And  with  bright  torches  each  recess  survey. 

The  fields  around  are  brilliant  with  the  lights, 

And  widely  glitter  all  the  mountain-heights. 

Among  the  thickets  of  that  leafy  place 

At  length  they  rest,  exhausted  from  the  chase, 

When,  'neath  a  rock  they  spy  a  grotto  near, 

In  which  a  noise  of  cattle  now  they  hear, 

Anon,  behold !  they  see  the  ass.  and  ox, 

And  the  old  sage's  venerable  locks ; 

Beside  the  blaze  they  find  the  Virgin  blest, 

With  her  sweet  babe  clasp 'd  fondly  to  her  breast. 

Rejoicing,  therefore,  at  their  wondrous  lot, 

In  haply  thus  alighting  on  the  grot, 

Forth  from  the  ground  they  pluck  some  laurel  shoots, 

And  tear  some  palm-trees  from  their  lowest  roots ; 

With  these  array' d  they  trip  the  vales  along, 

In  dances,  shouts,  and  many  a  joyous  song  : 

Returning  thence  they  hang  with  wreaths  the  door, 


EMANUEL.  311 

And  with  green  branches  strew  the  passage  o'er  : 

Around  the  grotto  boughs  of  olive  fixed, 

With  various  twigs  of  cedar  intermixed, 

With  chaplets  fair  array  the  threshold  'round, 

And  roses,  myrtles  scatter  o'er  the  ground. 

The  hoary  sage  observ'd  their  little  pains, 

And  in  kind  accents  thus  address 'd  the  swains : 

11  Declare,  0  Shepherds  !  for  I  well  may  say. 

That  uninspir'd  ye  wander  not  this  way, 

These  rural  gifts  for  whom  do  ye  prepare. 

For  whom  adorn  with  verdant  boughs  your  hair ; 

Has  some  fair  spirit,  hastening  from  on  high, 

Pointed  the  path,  and  bade  you  hither  fly  1 ' ' 

Thus  having  said,  he  stretched  them  out  his  hand, 

And  gave  kind  welcome  to  the  rustic  band. 

"Within  the  grove,  amid  the  shades  of  night, 

We  saw,  0  Sire !  a  form  array 'd  in  light, 

That  shed  a  glory  o'er  the  scene  around, 

And  made  our  hearts  with  thrills  of  transport  bound. 

We  heard  the  voice — the  vesture  we  survey'd, 

The  wings  above  us  rustled  thro'  the  shade, 

Nor  know  we  whether  God  himself  was  there, 

Or  some  bright  being  of  the  upper  air." 

To  this  the  midnight  watchers  added  not, 

But  hand  in  hand  they  enter 'd  now  the  grot, 

From  flowing  urns  their  silvan  stores  display' d, 

And  with  due  rev'rence  hailed  the  Virgin  maid. 

There  Lycidas  before  the  Saviour  stands  : 

With  him  was  Aegon  fanrd  for  flocks  and  lands. 

With  fields  a  hundred — flocks  as  many  more, 

That  graced  Getulia,  roam'd  Myssila's  shore ; 


312  EMAXUEL. 

He  was  the  richest  swain  that  made  abode 
Where  Cynips,  Triton,  or  Bragada  flow'd. 
Within  the  town  scarce  Lycidas  was  known. 
Or  on  that  hill  which  rose  beside  his  own  ; 
He  dwelt  in  poverty  beside  the  sea, 
And  tuned  his  reed  in  sweet  tranquility. 
Yet  all  unequal  both  in  voice  and  store, 
Midst  choirs  that  sing,  and  angels  that  adore, 
In  sweet  accord  their  simple  lyres  they  strung, 
And  thus  aloud  their  song  of  gladness  sung. 

"  0  beauteous  Babe  !  and  was  it  thou  indeed, 
For  whom  our  Tityrus  attuned  his  reed, 
And  with  such  music  bless 'd  his  native  plain, 
That  ev'n  a  Consul  listened  to  the  strain  1 
Now  comes  that  age  foretold  by  Cumean  lore, 
Time  now  begins  his  glorious  march  once  more  ; 
The  Virgin  smiles — the  dawn  of  joy  extends, 
And  from  on  high  an  offspring  bright  descends. 
Before  whose  smile  the  time  of  sorrow  flies, 
And  o'er  the  world  a  golden  age  shall  rise 
To  glad  the  heart,  and  all  the  fields  adorn. 
And  bid  the  palm-tree  blossom  mid  the  thorn. 
All  crime  shall  fail  beneath  his  gentle  reign, 
And  ne'er  shall  terror  fright  the  world  again, 
The  serpent  die  that  caus'd  our  parents'  woe. 
And  heav'n's  immortal  light  illumine  all  below. 
Like  to  the  saints  the  godlike  youth  shall  be, 
By  saints  be  seen,  and  saints  and  heroes  see  ; 
Around  the  world  extend  his  wide  command, 
And  with  paternal  virtue  rule  the  peaceful  land. 


EMANUEL.  313 

See,  glorious  Babe !  the  skies,  the  shore,  the  sea. 
In  sign  of  homage  how  they  bow  to  Thee  : 
Hear  far  and  wide  all  Nature  lift  her  voice, 
Hail  the  blest  age,  and  in  thy  birth  rejoice  ! 
The  goats  shall  come  with  loaded  udders  home, 
And  safe  from  lions,  herds  securely  roam ; 
The  little  lamb  shall  tread  the  vale  in  peace, 
And.  free  from  stain,  preserve  his  snowy  fleece. 
Meantime,  sweet  Boy  !  for  thee  the  willing  earth 
Shall  spread  her  gifts,  and  pour  in  fragrance  forth 
The  creeping  ivy  and  the  blossoming  bean, 
With  every  plant  that  decorates  the  green. 
Ev'n  o'er  thy  cradle  beds  of  flow'rs  shall  rise, 
Sweet  to  the  smell,  and  pleasing  to  the  eyes ; 
Rich  streams  of  honey  from  the  oak  shall  flow, 
And  every  climate  every  plant  bestow. 
As  soon  as  thou  to  manhood  shalt  have  grown, 
And  thy  high  deeds  to  all  the  world  be  known, 
Again  another  Typhis  shall  appear, 
O'er  the  blue  waves  another  Argos  steer, 
Again  shall  war's  terrific  tumults  swell, 
And  thou,  victorious,  seek  the  shades  of  hell. 
Then,  lovely  Baby  !  0  begin  the  while, 
With  those  sweet  eyes,  to  own  thy  mother's  smile, 
Immortal  offspring  of  the  Powers  on  high, 
Eternal  glory  of  the  spangled  sky !  !" 

While  thus  around  the  swains  exultant  sing, 

The  neighb'ring  groves  with  loud  responses  ring, 

The  rugged  mountains,  to  the  starry  height 

Their  voices  raise  in  carols  of  delight, 
27 


314  EMANUEL. 

While  rocks  and  forests  fling  their  notes  abroad, 
And  shout  aloud— "  Behold  a  God,  a  God  !" 

A  sudden  light  now  flashed  along  the  air, 
And  a  bright  host  was  seen  to  hover  there ; 
Now  here,  now  there,  the  radiant  circles  fly, 
And  many  a  golden  track  illumes  the  sky  : 
And  voices  sweet  came  sounding  from  afar, 
With  the  swift  rush  of  many  a  ringing  car ; 
The  heav'nly  throngs,  in  glitt'ring  arms  array' d, 
Rejoicing  gambol  thro'  the  midnight  shade, 
And  triple  cohorts,  drawn  in  triple  lines, 
Above,  below,  display  war's  fearful  signs. 
Now  might  be  seen  the  brightly  soaring  crowds 
Thrice  urge  their  phalanx  thro'  the  yielding  clouds, 
Adown  the  void  thrice  whirl  their  spears  of  flame, 
And  call  aloud,  and  shout  their  leader's  name. 
Again  they  form  their  widely-spread  array, 
March  forth  anew,  and  one  fair  front  display, 
Rear  high  their  standards,  clap  their  beamy  shields, 
And  shoot  once  more  athwart  th'  serial  fields. 
In  rapid  flight  a  thousand  more  were  seen 
Soar  o'er  the  clouds,  and  pierce  the  blue  serene, 
Hand  joined  in  hand,  compose  a  circling  throng, 
Shake  their  wide  wings  repeatedly  and  long, 
Display  on  high  those  instruments  of  grace, 
Which  brought  redemption  to  the  human  race, 
The  pillar — nails — the  spear — the  bitter  cup — 
The  crown  of  thorns — the  cross  high  lifted  up — 
Joyous  they  soar,  and  soaring  sweetly  sing, 
While  all  the  skies  with  pleasing  echoes  ring. 


EMANUEL.  315 

In  gladsome  strain  another  numerous  band 

Thus  sang  the  wonders  of  th'  Almighty's  hand  : 

"  'Twas  thou,  0  Lord  !  that  mad'st  this  earthly  sphere, 

Amid  the  waters  bad'st  dry  land  appear, 

Hung'st  in  the  air  the  comet's  fiery  blaze, 

The  moon's  pale  beam,  the  starlight's  twinkling  rays, 

From  out  the  East  mad'st  darkness  flee  away, 

And  with  the  sun  brought' st  forth  the  shining  day. 

'Twas  thou  that  forc'd  the  rebel  ones  to  fly, 

And  hurl'd  them  headlong  from  thy  place  on  high, 

For  ever  doom'd  them  with  their  chief  to  dwell 

In  woe  and  darkness  'midst  the  depths  of  hell. 

The  earth,  the  skies,  the  mighty-sounding  sea, 

Lift  up  their  voices,  and  sing  praise  to  Thee : 

The  guile  of  man  averted  not  thy  mind, 

Nor  all  th'  ingratitude  of  all  his  kind ; 

For  still  thou  view'st  them  with  an  eye  of  love, 

And  deem'st  them  worthy  of  the  joys  above  : 

Hail,  King  of  Saints  !  hail,  Founder  of  the  poles  ! 

Light  of  the  Nations  !  glorious  Hope  of  Souls  ! 

Before  whom  sun  and  stars  grow  dim  and  pale, 

And  Satan  trembles,  and  his  kingdoms  quail — 

At  whose  high  throne  all  people  prostrate  fall, 

Alone,  Eternal !  Loving,  ruling  all ! 

A  thousand  names — a  thousand  deeds  are  thine— 

Thine  are  a  thousand  Potentates  divine — 

Unceasing  praises  unto  Thee  be  given  ! 

Hail,  Lord  of  Hosts  !  hail,  mighty  King  of  heav'n !" 

Far  floats  the  sound,  the  clouds  its  notes  prolong, 

And  all  the  skies  are  dulcet  with  the  song. 


316  EMANUEL. 

Upon  the  Jordan,  and  its  margin  green, 

Another  sight  of  wonderment  was  seen : 

The  harts  and  goats  exulting  seemed  to  bound 

In  many  a  joyous,  many  a  frolic  round  ; 

The  rapid  stream  in  sunshine  made  its  way, 

And  o'er  fair  meadows  flung  its  sparkling  spray ; 

A  youth,  array' d  in  vest  of  camel's  hair. 

Standing  upon  a  rock  projecting  there, 

Pour'd  forth  the  waters  on  the  Son  of  God, 

From  out  the  rapids  of  the  chrystal  flood  ; 

A  chosen  band  stands  on  the  verdant  sward, 

In  snow-white  garments  to  receive  their  Lord ; 

The  Holy  Spirit  hastens  from  above, 

And  hovers  o'er  him  like  a  gentle  dove, 

Sent  from  his  glory,  by  th'  Eternal  Sire, 

With  beams  adorn 'd,  and  circumfus'd  with  fire. 

The  earth  the  ocean  view  the  scene  with  dread, 

And  Jordan  hastens  to  its  fountain-head. 

The  stream,  meanwhile,  a  sweeter  taste  assumes, 

And  all  the  bank  with  sudden  beauty  blooms ; 

Unnumber'd  lights  amidst  the  forests  glow  ; 

The  swains  rejoicing,  mark  the  dazzling  show ; 

Full  on  the  ear  celestial  songs  arise, 

And  a  loud  voice  thus  sings  along  the  skies  : 

"  Flow  on,  0  Jordan  !  flow  in  gladness  on, 

Soon  to  thy  banks  will  come  the  Mighty  One, 

Who  shall  command  thy  waters  to  outshine 

The  Ganges,  and  the  Nile,  the  Danube,  and  the  Rhine. 

O'er  Po  and  Tiber,  he  will  lift  thy  name, 

And  make  the  skies  the  boundary  of  thy  fame. 

All  pain  and  plague  before  his  face  depart, 


EMANUEL.  31T 

And  peace  and  joy  renew  the  weary  heart : 
The  leprosy,  that  dread  distemper   fails 
With  all  its  humors  and  with  all  its  scales ; 
The  deadly  fevers  leave  the  burning  frame, 
And  rosy  health  succeed  their  hectic  flame ; 
Far.  far  away  the  lunacy  is  driven, 
Swift,  strong  and  blasting  as  the  fires  of  heaven, 
Xo  more  to  strike  its  wretched  victim  down, 
In  flame  to  perish,  or  in  flood  to  drown ; 
No  more  shall  dropsies  on  the  body  prey, 
To  sap  the  nerves,  and  wear  the  strength  away ; 
Tongues  ever  silent  shall  their  silence  break, 
And  from  their  darkness  eyes  triumphant  wake 

O'er  which  the  beauty  of  the  stars  ne"er  shone. 

Or  the  rich  radiance  of  the  mid-day  sun  ! 

The  aching  cripple  shall  forget  his  pain. 

Feel  vigour  rushing  thro'  his  frame  again, 
And  in  his  gladness  leap  once  more  along, 

Swift,  gay,  and  buoyant,  all  res  tor' d  and  strong. 

Another,  order 'd  from  his  couch  to  rise. 

Without  delay,  swift  from  his  thraldom  flies, 

And  on  his  shoulders  bearing  forth  his  bed, 

Hastes  to  the  city  with  elastic  tread, 

'Mid  frequent  cries,  and  tumults  long  and  loud. 

Rais'd  at  the  marvel  by  the  pressing  crowd. 

The  wither' d  hand,  that  is  itself  no  more, 

Regains  its  power  and  feeling  as  before. 

With  trembling  step,  and  visage  worn  and  wan. 

A  lonely  woman  thro'  the  crowd  moves  on. 

And  touches  but  his  garment's  hem.  when  lo  ! 

At  once  the  rushing  blood  forgets  to  flow. 
27* 


318  EMANUEL. 

The  buried  dead,  by  many  a  tear  deplor'd, 

To  life  and  animation  are  restored : 

The  pipe  of  grief  pours  out  the  fun'ral  strain 

Before  the  sorrows  of  the  weeping  train, 

But  soon  the  mother  clasps  her  risen  boy, 

And  the  glad  father  weeps  in  tears  of  joy : 

Th'  astonish' d  people  'round  the  parents  throng, 

And  all  is  happiness  and  bursts  of  song. 

Oft-times  before  him,  sacred  stream  !  shalt  thou 

See  mountains  rise,  and  lofty  forests  bow  ; 

Oft  shall  thy  waters,  with  their  murmur  deep, 

Lull  his  young  bosom  into  tranquil  sleep, 

Soft  on  thy  margin  as  his  limbs  are  laid 

Seeking  sweet  slumber,  or  refreshing  shade. 

0  happy  river  !  famed  o'er  every  sea  ! 

Shorn  of  their  beams  the  Blest  shall  visit  thee  ; 

Upon  thy  border  bare  their  sacred  limbs, 

And  sweetly  warble  forth  celestial  hymns, 

While  thou  shalt  sprinkle,  in  thy  holy  tide, 

The  mighty  Lord,  the  Counsellor,  and  Guide, 

And  struck,  astonished  at  so  high  a  guest, 

Shalt  lull  thy  billows  into  stillest  rest. 

Then  bid  thy  banks  with  sweetest  fragrance  breathe. 

And  all  thy  borders  form  one  rosy  wreath, 

There  far  and  wide,  let  wild  red  roses  blow. 

And  hyacinths,  and  lilies  like  the  snow, 

And  wash  the  members  of  thy  heav'nly  King, 

With  waters  flowing  from  thy  clearest  spring. 

The  mountains  then  shall  lift  their  voices  high, 

And  raise  the  name  of  Jordan  to  the  sky  ; 

The  warbling  waters  shall  repeat  the  sound. 


EMANUEL.  319 

And  streams  and  forests  send  their  echoes  round. 

When  dawns  the  morning  that  shall  end  man's  woes. 

Bid  anguish  flee,  and  every  trouble  close, 

Bright  o'er  the  cities  as  it  may  appear. 

Sweet  as  'twill  prove  to  all  the  spacious  sphere, 

Yet  trebly  glorious  shall  its  splendors  beam 

Above  the  waters  of  thy  favour*  d  stream. 

That  arm  of  might,  that  glory  of  his  Sire 

Shall  neither  affluence  nor  power  require. 

Free  he  resigns  the  rapture  of  the  skies. 

And  all  for  man  appears  in  man's  frail  guize, 

He  walks  not  forth  to  seize  on  Cyprus'  throne. 

The  Caspian  realms  he  will  not  mark  his  own  : 

"With  chosen  guards,  and  chivalrous  array 

He  will  not  hold  proud  Babylon  his  prey  : 

Nor  move3  he  on  in  high  triumphal  car 

To  make  the  Capitol  the  scene  of  war. 

On  the  broad  deep,  or  by  the  shelly  strand 

He  seeks  mid  toil  to  find  a  loving  band, 

The  needy  rovers  of  the  billowy  way. 

Just  heaving  forth  their  nets  amidst  the  bay — 

These  are  the  conquests  he  essays  to  gain. 

There  are  the  subjects  of  his  Father's  reign  : 

All  power — authority — he  gives  to  these — 

To  crush  the  viper — to  dispel  disease — 

O'er  evil  spirits  to  maintain  their  sway — 

And  back  to  darkness  order  them  away — 

To  hold  the  keys  of  heav'n's  celestial  reign, 

And  shut  the  gates,  and  bid  them  ope  again — 

To  combat  hell,  and  all  its  pow'rs  disarm, 

And  from  the  demon's  vengeance  fear  no  harm. 


320  EMANUEL. 

With  golden  diadems  shall  they  be  crown' d, 

Encircled,  each,  with  heav'nly  choirs  around, 

To  do  their  will,  and  learn  their  sacred  laws, 

And  to  their  triumphs  raise  deserv'd  applause  : 

Thrice  happy  men  !  who  leave  your  boats  and  oars, 

Exchanges  small  for  heav'n's  immortal  shores  ! 

And  He  shall  change  the  waters  into  wine, 

First  wondrous  instance  of  his  pow'r  divine — 

The  waters  wond'ring  at  the  mighty  change, 

O'erflow  their  vases  with  increases  strange ; 

Around  the  hall  mellifluous  draughts  are  pour'd. 

And  bless  the  bridal,  and  rejoice  the  board. 

He  will  not  leave  th'  Apostles'  labour  vain, 

When  he  shall  visit  them  upon  the  main, 

But  quickly  crown  them  ^  ith  a  boundless  store 

Of  fishes  overspreading  all  the  shore. 

When  winds  are  high — when  waves  roll  wild  and  dark. 

And  in  the  gulph  would  whelm  the  little  bark. 

His  word  shall  breathe  across  the  raging  deep, 

And  still  the  storm,  and  bid  the  billows  sleep. 

Till  o'er  the  wave  no  breath  shall  wander  by 

Save  the  soft  zephyr's  gently  soothing  sigh. 

And  He  shall  see  five  thousand  mortals  fed 

With  two  small  fishes,  and  five  loaves  of  bread. 

Of  which  twelve  baskets  scarcely  can  contain 

The  num'rous  fragments  that  shall  still  remain. 

At  dead  of  night  o'er  ocean  He  will  stray 

And  fear  no  peril  from  his  watery  way  ; 

The  stormy  waves  shall,  far  and  wide  around, 

Before  their  Lord,  be  lulled  to  peace  profound, 

And,  fill'd  with  rev'rence  at  the  sight,  shall  greet. 

With  trembling  kisses,  his  immortal  feet." 


EMANUEL.  321 

Thus  sang  the  voice — then  died  in  air  away — 
As  the  fair  dawn  announced  the  op'ning  day. 

So  far,  Ye  Blest !  have  I  pursued  my  strain  : 
And  now  my  spirit  longs  to  taste  again 
The  pure  free  air  of  Pausilypo's  height — 
Its  bay  so  beautiful — its  shore  so  bright — 
And  that  fair  villa  where  I  whil'd  away, 
In  peace,  and  joy,  full  many  a  blissful  day, 
My  own  lov'd  Myrgillina's  charming  seat, 
With  its  fresh  fountains  and  its  green  retreat, 
Where  hang  sweet  blossoms  from  the  orange-bough. 
— A  fitting  chaplet  for  the  Poet's  brow. 


